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MAY— OCTOBER, 1866. 



Digitized by the Internet Arciifve 
in 2011 with funding from » 
LYRASIS members and Sloan Foundation 


^Iddrcss, Got. Alicii"s Farewell to the people of Louisiana. 27o 

Gen Wise's, 14 

Adcle St. Maur. .V2. VA^. 21-2. -JH-i, 3;5S, 41U 

AgTicultural Science. 2-1. 140 

Animals. Xutritiou of 314 

B . 

Uadger, Hon. Geo. E.. sketch of 335 

social reniiuiseencos of 282 

Battle of Chickamauga. (ien. Ih'cckenridge's report, 30.") 

Gen. Clelnivne's report. ■ 240 

(ien. I). 11. liiirs report. 393 

Black liam, the 77 


Campaign, plan of for If^iU-. 170 

plan of operations foj' the sprinu- of ISO-"-. 1S8 

Cavalry, defence of the . 363 

Chat and Clippings. 187, 232 

Classic Literature, decliiie of 328 

Conceit^ concerning 189 

Davis, prison life of Jelferson 277 


Editorial, ■ 303. 37i> 

Education. 1, ^:i 

Ehnsville and its liosBital. 120. 225 



Fact, an instructive J67 

Farmers, English 101. 209 

Forrest, Lt. Gen. If. B. 268 

Fruit Culture, a few words on 199 


Grajies, the best wine ;100 

Great Britain, rewards men of .science and mechanical genius. 12 


Haversack, the 67. 114. 201. 2S8. P.44. 4:!l 

Histoiy, a fragment of Mexican . 4;>^> 

Hospital Sketches, Jifo. I. 417 


Jackson, Lt. Gen. T. J., sketc-hes of ais) 

wounding of 17i) 

-Jenkins, Brig. Gen. A. C ISii 


Lion, and other Iteasts, the 195 


Milton on his loss of sight. 1^4 

Xorth Carolina, minerals of 162 
ornamr\ntal flowering trees, shrubs and creepers. 78 

Parents, hints to 3.3, I'-X? 

Pickens, Gov. I., of Alabama. 91 

Price, Maj. Gen. Sterling, sketch of 364 

Puritan Peculiarities, 406 


Picbels, French treatment of i'AH 
Review Notices. 82, 2o4, ;i02. M7o, 441 

Road-Side Stories. 255 

Eomola, review of 134 


"^ad Stoiy, a 


Snow Bound, 

South Carolina, the low country of 

Southern Homesteads. — Yaucluse. 

Sympathy, Mistaken 

Wheat Culture, 
Woolly Head, the 
Words, hist or}' in 
the study of 



28G. 428 

■ 241 










Anthem of Heaven, 

-Esop Again, 


Brown Bridge, the 


Christ, the com-ing of 



Darling, Somebody's 

Daughter, a hero's 





* 392 



Fig Leaves, life's 

Eight in the ISTameless Isle, the 

Flower of Catawba, the 


109." 222, ;{24 



Habits, bad 49 

Helen, to 44 


Idyl. ;"K) 


Ljind Avt' Love, the Kil 

Lee, Gen. R. E., at the Eattio of the Wilderneg;s, :574 

Ligeia. 45 

Lines dedicated to those who have I teen Southern sokliers. U">4 

on the death of a daughter, •J'j*' 

Lojio- Ago. the- 4:J 

3Irithei-. the. to her son in the trenches at Petersburg;, 4<) 


Picture of Life, a 4H 


Kegulus, 40'.' 

Rosalie. 'J'il 


Shells, gathering 47 

.S(»hlier"s Storv. a one-arnieil !"•' 


Tenlh of May. the -<''l 

'J'oo Late. 4> 


No. I. 

MAY, 1866. 

Vol. I. 


The Latin poet has beautifully said 
that they who change their sky db 
. not change their minds. The emi- 
grant from his natal soil carries with 
him his old opinions, his old senti- 
ments, and his old habits. In select- 
ing a place for his residence in the 
land of his adoption, he seeks some 
hill or vale which resembles the spot 
on which stands the dear old home- 
stead far away. The new edifice is 
made as near alike as may be to the 
paternal building. His garden, his 
vineyard, his orchard, his grounds 
are fashioned after the models so 
fondly cherished in his memory. 
His style of living, his mode of 
thought, his habits, his manners, his 
passions, and his prejudices will all 
be unchanged. The accents that first 
struck his childish ear will still be 
heard with delight, and most joyful- 
ly will he meet some ^countryman 
from that loved land, with whjom he 
may converse in his sacred native 
tongue. And still more grateful will 
it be to him to find a colony of his 
own people, where familiar tones will 
ever greet him, and where the wor- 
ship and customs of his fathers will 
ever be preserved. And in fact it is 
just because men do not change their 
minds with their sky that these col- 
onies so frequently dot the surface 
of this mighty Republic. To us 

VOL I. — NO I. 

there is something beautiful in this 
love for home and home associations, 
this clinging to the language, the re- 
ligion, and the customs transmitted 
from generation to generation ; and 
we never pass such a settlement 
from the Old "World without the feel- 
ing that they who venerate the tra- 
ditions of the past -v^ill respect the 
laws of the present, and that they 
whose hearts go out toward those of 
their own blood and tongue are the 
better prepared thereby to exercise 
benevolence toward all mankind. 
He who does not love his own fam- 
ily better than the whole of the rest 
of the world, who does not love his 
own land better than all the coun- 
tries on earth, is so far from being a 
Christian and patriot, that he is a 
monster utterly unworthy of trust 
and confidence. The Apostle Paul 
pronounces him to be worse than 
an infidel. So strong was sectional 
love in the great apostle himself that 
he could wish himself accursed from 
Christ for the sake of his brethren, 
his kinsmen according to the flesh. 
Moses, the heaven-appointed leader 
of Israel, who talked with God face 
to face, as a man talketh with his 
friend, went even beyond Paul in his 
devotion to his people, and did ac- 
tually offer the request which Paul 
expressed his willingness to offer: 



" Yet now, if thou wilt forgive their 
sin ; and if not, blot me, I pray thee, 
out of thy book, which thou hast 

Among the sweet psalms of David, 
the man after God's own heart, and 
constituting a part of the sacred can- 
on of Scripture, is the touching la- 
ment of the captive at Babylon as 
the representative of the true-hearted 
Israelite, invoking a fearful curse 
upon himself if ever found wanting 
in love to his native land. " If I for- 
get thee, Jerusalem, let my right 
hand forget her cunning. If I do 
not remember thee, let my tongue 
cleave to the roof of my mouth ; if 
I prefer not Jerusalem above my 
chief joy." Jeremiah, the holy pro- 
phet who was sanctified ere he was 
born, represents himself as weeping 
day and night for the miseries of his 
people. Nehemiah, while a member 
of the household of the king of 
Babylon, and occupying toward him 
the confidential relation of cup-bear- 
er, had no relish for the enjoyments 
of that most luxurious city when 
he heard the sad news from his na- 
tive land. So profound was his grief 
that the imperious monarch noticed 
it, and was offended. " Wherefore, 
the king said unto me. Why is thy 
countenance sad, seeing thou art not 
sick ? this is nothing else but sorrow 
of heart. Then I was very sore 
afraid, and said unto the king, Let 
the king live forever: why should 
not my countenance be sad when the 
city, the place of my fathers' sepul- 
chres lieth waste, and the gates there- 
of are consumed by fire ?" 

With all these holy men of old, 
love to their own nation was a 
part of their religion, nor did they 
understand that modern philanthro- 
py which consists in going to the 
uttermost parts of the earth to seek 
objects of its beneficence, while 
squalor, ignorance, sin and misery 
are all around it at home. One of 
this school, whose name is a house- 
hold word throughout the civilized 
world, visited every abode of wretch- 
edness in Europe, but left his own 
son to become a maniac through 

neglect and cruelty. On the con- 
trary, our Saviour spent his energies 
and his activities in Judea and Gali- 
lee. His life of labor, privation, and 
suffering passed away among his own 
people. His last instructions to his 
disciples were to begin their ministry 
at Jerusalem, the capital of his na- 
tive country. His example hallows 
the sweet charities which begin at 
home, and sheds a fragrance around 
that holy feeling which burns in the 
bosom of the patriot for the land we 

But we of the South, however 
much we may revere our ancestors 
and their time-honored usages, and 
though the same sky be over our 
heads which looked down upon 
theirs, must yet of necessity change 
our minds upon many subjects, else 
our very name and nation will be 
taken away. Our system of labor 
has been abolished. Our currency de- 
stroyed and our whole social organ- 
ization has been overturned. Thou- 
sands of elegant mansions, the prince- 
ly seats of luxury and refinement, 
where a magnificent hospitality was 
dispensed with a lordly hand, are 
now but heaps of rubbish and ashes. 
Thousands of acres, which once 
groaned under the weight of the 
golden harvest, are now waste and 
desolate places — the habitation, it 
may be, of reptiles and wild beasts. 
Hundreds of the sanctuaries of the 
Most High, where men were wont to 
go up to take sweet counsel together, 
are now marked by blackened walls 
or piles of rains. " Our holy and 
beautiful house, where our fathers 
praised thee, is burned up with fire ; 
and all our pleasant things are laid 
waste. . . . The new wine mourn- 
eth, the vine languisheth, all the 
merry-hearted do sigh. The mirth 
of tabrets ceaseth, the noise of them 
that rejoice endeth, the joy of the 
harp ceaseth. Our country is deso- 
late, our cities are burned with fire ; 
and the daughter of Zion is left as a 
cottage in a vineyard, as a lodge in a 
garden of cucumbers, as a besieged 
city." A change has come over us 
mightier far than that made by the 



poor emigrant, who changes his sky, 
and we must make our minds corre- 
spond to the new state of things. 
First of all, we must make a total 
radical change in our system of 
education. We must abandon the 
aesthetic and the ornamental for 
the practical and the useful. We 
need practical farmers, miners, ma- 
chinists, engineers, manufacturers, 
navigators, blacksmiths, carpenters, 
etc., etc., to develop the immense re- 
sources of our country, which war 
has not been able to destroy. Agri- 
culture must be studied as a science, 
with all its coordinate branches — 
chemistry, geology, mineralogy, me- 
teorology. Mining must next claim 
our attention, as our country is rich 
ni iron, copper, gold, lead, zinc, 
manganese, lime, gypsum, salt, mar- 
ble, etc., etc. These two (farming 
and mining) must chiefly for a while 
occupy the time and the energies of 
our people. In these the great bulk 
of our inland population will seek em- 
ployment and subsistence. To labor 
successfully they must labor intelli- 
gently, and this can only i)e accom- 
plished by educational training for 
the work. Next, in order to labor 
economically and profitably, we must 
have our engines, our tools, our im- 
plements of every description made 
upon our own soil ; and this again 
requires skillful and well-instructed 
machinists. We must have our own 
foundries and workshops, and in 
tliem no ignorant and bungling work- 
men must be found. The buildings 
needed, that they may have the re- 
quisite suitableness and adaptability 
to the end in view, must be planned 
by one who has made architecture* 
his study, and rnust be erected by • 
those familiar with carpentry as an 

Nature has lavished upon us her 
most munificent bounties, and has 
invited us by her voice from a thou- 
sand water-falls to turn our attention 
to manufacturing. Steam-power can 
not compete with water-power, on 
account of the superior cheapness of 
the latter, and our rivers and lesser 
streams have unsurpassed and un- 

surpassable sites for mills and fac- 
tories of every kind. The James, 
the Tennessee, the Yadkin, Cape 
Fear, Catawba, Chattahoochee, and 
hundreds of others have as great ad- 
vantages in these respects as any 
water-courses in the world. While, 
too, our streams can be used through- 
out the entire year, those of the 
North are locked up with ice for 
months. Spite of this immense 
drawback, and the additional im- 
pediment of having to transport the 
raw material from one to two thou- 
sand miles, the persistent, pertina- 
cious, persevering energy of the 
North has erected a hundred cotton 
factories where we have but one. 
The fruitfulness of our soil should, 
and ordinarily does, render food 
cheap and abundant. The mildness 
of our climate, too, saves the South- 
ern operative one half at least of the 
expense which his Northern compet- 
itor has to incur for fuel and wool- 
ens. With the fourfold advantage of 
streams always open, of the raw ma- 
terial at our doors, of abundance of 
food, and of smaller expenditures in 
living, we ought to excel the North 
in this branch of industry ; and we 
will be utterly inexcusable if we do 
not. The wool of Ohio, New- York, 
Vermont, and New-Hampshire ought 
rather to be sent here to be worked 
up than the cotton of Georgia, Ala- 
bama, and Mississippi to be sent 
there. The facilities for manufactur- 
ing are all in our favor; and it is 
owing to our own inattention and 
neglect that we are so immeasurably 
behind. This inattention is owing 
to three principal causes : 1st. It 
was thought to be, and probably, 
under the old system, was, more pro- 
fitable to produce nothing but the 
great staples of the South, and to 
supply all our wants from abroad. 
2d. On the great plantations of the 
South labor was in excess, and hence 
our thoughts were not turned to- 
ward those labor-saving and labojr- 
performing machines which econo- 
mize and multiply human eflfort. The 
use of machinery and the study of the 
mechanic arts were, as a natural con- 



sequence, ignored and unheeded. 3d. 
The general prosperity of the South 
exempted a large class, and that the 
most intelligent, from the necessity 
of personal exertion to gain a sub- 
sistence. Hence, the ingenuity in 
mechanical contrivance which want 
engenders was not developed among 
our people. The privileged class, 
not having to turn their thoughts 
into the thousand avenues by which 
wealth is sought and gained, did not 
learn to prize it as a chief good. 
Ambition, Avhich is natural to all 
mankind, not being directed in them 
to the acquisition of riches, found a 
more congenial arena for its exercise 
in the contest for political power. 
Hence those branches of learning 
which were calculated to fit the stu- 
dent for successful championship on 
the hustings and in the forum were 
assiduously cultivated, to the almost 
total neglect of all others. The dead 
languages, the English classics, polit- 
ical economy, rhetoric, elocution, law, 
etc., engrossed the time and the en- 
ergies of the Southern youth. Prob- 
ably no people on the globe ever 
prized so highly a knowledge of the 
ancient classics as did the planters 
of the Southern Atlantic States of 
the old thirteen. In their estima- 
tion, not to possess this knowledge 
was not merely proof of want of 
scholarship — it was an absolute de- 
monstration of the want of gentle- 
manly breeding. The influence of 
such opinions upon the colleges of 
the South will be seen by a glance at 
the curricnlum of any one of them. 
Science is thrust completely into the 
background, and mathematics, the 
essential pre-requisite to its mastery, 
is treated with a neglect amounting 
almost to contempt. Herschel said 
of the Calculus, that Newton had in- 
vented a new language, in which men 
of science could think. This diffi- 
cult study is disposed of in at least 
three of our Southern universities 
in a few lectures. Is this a less sham 
upon the public than the quack ad- 
vertisement of "French taught in 
three lessons"? But it would be 
unjust to these colleges to hold them 

responsible for their low order of 
mathematical instruction. The great 
law of demand and supply is appli- 
cable to them as to every thing else. 
The Indian preacher, when told that 
his salary of twenty-five dollars a 
year was "confounded poor pay," re- 
plied, "confounded poor preach." 
When the demand is for an inferior 
article, of course the inferior article 
is furnished. The attention of the 
writer of this was first called to the 
difference between the training North 
and South, when he went to a North- 
ern institution to receive his own ed- 
ucation. The young men froin the 
former section were well drilled in 
arithmetic and the rudiments of alge- 
bra and geometry, but knew little 
of Latin or Greek. It was precisely 
the reverse with the young men from 
the latter section. And this differ- 
ence in the two systems of education 
is owing to the fact, as we will see, 
that the North sought wealth and 
the South political preeminence as 
the chief end of human exertion. 
The celebrated Dr. Channing, of Bos- 
ton, has given this eloquent analysis 
of the characteristics of the two sec- 
tions : 

" The South has within itself elements 
of political power more efficient than 
ours. The South has abler politicians, 
and almost necessarily, because its most 
opulent class make politics the business of 
life. ... At the North politics occu- 
py a second place in men's minds. Even 
in what we call seasons of public excite- 
ment the people think more of private 
business than of public affairs. We think 
more of property than of political power ; 
this indeed is the natural result of free 
institutions. Under these, political pow- 
er is not suffered to accumulate in a few 
hands, but is distributed in minute por- 
tions ; and even when thus limited it is 
not permitted to endure, but passes in 
quick rotation from man to man. Of 
consequence, it is an inferior good to 
property. Every wise man among us 
looks on property as a more sure and last- 
ing possession to himself and family, as 
conferring more ability to do good, to 
gratify generous and refined tastes, than 
the possession of political power. In the 
South, an unnatural state of things turns 



men's thoughts to political ascendency. 
But in the Free States men think little 
of it. Property is the good for wliicli 
they toil perseveringly day and night. 
Even the political partisan among us has 
an eye to property^ and seeks office as the 
best, perhaps only way of subsistence." — 
Channing''s Duty of tlie Free States, Part 
ii. pp. 71, Y2. 

The italics in the forgoing extract 
are our own. If this publication 
were a recent one, and the author did 
not hail from a State preeminently 
union and hostile to rebels, we would 
be disposed to accuse him of down- 
right disloyalty. The broad assertion 
that the people of the Free States 
toil perserveringly for property day 
and night as the chief good, and that 
their public men seek office as the 
best, perhaps only way of subsist- 
ence, seems to savor of treason and 
rebellion. Nor do we believe that 
he clearly perceived the cause of the 
distinction which certainly did exist 
between the two sections. The sim- 
ple reason is this : " The unnatural 
state of things," spoken of by the 
writer, that is, the system of slavery, 
produced a privileged class at the 
South relieved of the necessity of 
scrambling for a livelihood. It sur- 
rounded these favored persons with 
all that heart could desire of comfort 
and elegance, and permitted them to 
turn their ambitious aims toward po- 
litical power. They looked forward 
to the time when they would take 
their places in the councils of the 
nation with almost as much confi- 
dence as did the nobility of England 
to the time when they would take 
their seats in Parliament. The mem- 
tal culture and the educational train- ^ 
ing of both Southerner and English- 
man were to fit thfem for the position 
of honor and usefulness. There be- 
ing no servile race at the North, the 
struggle for property became more 
general there than with us ; and to 
achieve superior success in obtaining 
it became naturally the object of am- 
bition. Not one in a hundred of 
those who wearily labored day and 
night to acquire riches was actuated 
by those benevolent aims which the 

writer so eloquently describes. The 
successful man of business, on his 
entrance into life, found himself sur- 
rounded by a multitude, pushing, 
hurrying and scrambling for money 
as a means of subsistence. The nat- 
ural desire for preeminence prompted 
him to attempt to excel in the pur- 
suits in which all were engaged. 
His superior tact, energy, and ad- 
dress placed him at length in the 
front rank. Had he been born on a 
rice or cotton plantation with the 
same talents and ambition, he would 
have sought distinction in public life, 
just because his equals in society 
were elevated above the necessity of 
a struggle for a maintenance ; and 
therefore in political triumphs alone 
could his love of superiority find its 
exercise. This seems to us the nat- 
ural solution of the whole matter. 
But however this may be. Dr. Chan- 
ning was unquestionably right in this, 
that the statesmen of the country 
have belonged chiefly to the South. 
Upon them have been lavished chiefly 
the highest honors of the Republic. 
Since the first meeting of Congress 
under the Constitution in the city of 
New- York, on the 4th of March, 
1789, there have been seventeen Pres- 
idents of the United States, includ- 
ing the three Vice-Presidents, Tyler, 
Fillmore, and Johnson, who succeed- 
ed to office upon the deaths of their 
respective chiefs. Of these seven- 
teen, eleven have been of Southern 
birth, namely, Washington, Jeffer- 
son, Madison, Monroe, Jackson, Har- 
rison, Tyler, Polk, Taylor, Lincoln, 
and Johnson. A single Southern 
State, Virginia, has been the birth- 
place of seven of them — Washington, 
Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Harri- 
son, Tyler, and Taylor. Of the six 
Northern Presidents, J. Q. Adams 
was not the choice of the people ; 
the election was thrown into the 
House of Representatives, and he 
was chosen by a coalition of parties. 
Mr. Fillmore became President upon 
the death of General Taylor. So 
that in fact only four men of North- 
ern birth, John Adams, Van Buren, 
Pierce, and Buchanan, w"ere elected 



by the people. And Mr. Van Buren 
was made President, it is well known, 
through the influence of his prede- 
cessor, a Southern man ; and he, too, 
was supported as the "Northern man 
with Southern principles." On the 
other hand, excluding Messrs. Tyler 
and Johnson, nine of our Presidents 
have been elected by the free votes 
of the American people. Moreover, 
during fifty -four years of the seventy- 
seven of national existence, a South- 
ern-born man has held the helm of 
government. More than two thirds 
of the life of the nation has Tjeen 
spent under the administration of 
Southern men. (See Sumner on the 
Barbarism of Slavery.) Again, so 
emphatically have all sections of this 
mighty Republic indorsed the exec- 
utive acts and foreign and domestic 
policy of the Southern Presidents, 
that every one of them who has per- 
mitted himself to be a candidate a 
second time for office has been re- 
elected, while not a single President 
of Northern birth has served two 
terms. Washington was reelected ; 
Jefferson was reelected ; Madison was 
reelected ; Monroe was reelected ; 
Jackson was reelected; Lincoln was 
reelected. Of the other five South- 
ern Presidents, two, Harrison and 
Taylor, died during their incumben- 
cy ; two, Tyler and Polk, were not 
candidates for reelection, and Mr. 
Johnson is still President. Mr. Ty- 
ler was personally unpopular, and 
certainly could not have been reelect- 
ed ; but his general policy was in- 
dorsed by the people, as shown by 
the election of his successor, who, 
like himself, was an annexationist 
and an anti-tariflf man. Messrs. Har- 
rison and Taylor died in the full glow 
of their popularity. The constitu- 
ents of the Soutliern Presidents have 
shoion an approbation of their 2^oliey 
never before accorded in history by 
subjects to a line of sovereigns. (See 
Sumner on the Barbarism of Slave- 
ry.) Let us look next at the verdict 
of the people upon the administra- 
tions of the Presidents of Northern 
birth. This has been adverse in 
every single instance except one, as 

shown not merely by the declination 
to reelect them but also by repudi- 
ating their policy, and selecting as 
their successors men whose political 
opinions were just the opposite of 
their own, Washington left as his 
successor a man who differed with 
him so little upon the great questions 
of the day as not to deem it neces- 
sary to supersede Washington's cab- 
inet by one of his own — an exam- 
ple, by the way, of magnanimity as 
rare as it is beautiful. But John 
Adams, a Federalist, was himself suc- 
ceeded by Thomas Jefferson, a Re- 
publican. John Quincy Adams, a 
Whig, was succeeded by Andrew 
Jackson, a Democrat. Van Buren, 
a Democrat, was beaten for reelection 
by Harrison, a Whig, and the vote 
by which he was rejected indicated, 
on the part of the American people, 
almost a contemptuous disrespect 
of his administration. Their pro- 
nouncement was still more decisive 
when this "Northern man with South- 
ern principles " came out once more 
as a candidate for reelection and the 
chosen champion of Abolitionism. 
And lastly Buchanan, a Democrat, 
was succeeded by Lincoln, a Repub- 
lican. Of all the Presidents of North- 
ern birth, Franklin Pierce alone has 
had as his successor a man of his 
own school of politics. His great 
purity and integrity of character 
won, not merely for himself, but for 
his party, the confidence of his coun- 
trymen. We admired him in Mexi- 
co for the kindness and courtesy 
with which he treated the officers of 
the old army over whose heads he, 
a civilian, had been placed. We ad- 
mired him for resigning, and telling 
the President frankly that the pref- 
erence given to civilians over vete- 
ran and meritorious officers was a 
cruel injustice. We admired him 
for the ability and impartiality with 
which he presided over the destinies 
of the nation, and during the la-st 
five years our admiration has grown 
into love and veneration. History 
has but five or six names of men who 
were unmoved when a whirlwind of 
passion and excitement swept by; 



of few, who, when their friends and 
neighbors rushed wildly by, did not 
join in the throng and add to their 
frenzy. But history will add an- 
other name to the list of those sub- 
lime few whose memories will never 
perish. * 

Now it is very remarkable that 
while the administration of Franklin 
Pierce is the only one among all those 
of Northern-born Presidents which 
has not been repudiated by the peo- 
ple and succeeded by another based 
upon a different system of govern- 
ment, only one Southern President 
(James Monroe) has been succeeded 
by a man of a different school of pol- 
itics. Washington, after serving two 
terms, was followed by John Adams, 
who agreed with him on all the great 
questions of the day. Jefferson, 
after his second term of oflSce had 
expired, yielded the Presidential chair 
to James Madison, who was as strong 
a believer in the doctrine of State 
rights as he himself. James Madi- 
son, after his second term, gave way 
to James Monroe, a man of the same 
political faith. A coalition of parties, 
as we have seen, prevented Monroe 
from being succeeded by one who 
agreed with him on points of do- 
mestic and foreign policy. But this 
excited the utmost indignation 
throughout the entire country, and 
the people rose in their might at 
their next election, and bore in tri- 
umph to the White House their fa- 
vorite hero, Andrew Jackson. He 
(Jackson) served his eight years, and 
then was followed by a Democrat of 
his own selection. Tyler, an anti- 
tariflf man and an annexationist, was 
followed by Polk, who carried out 
the policy of his predecessor. Polk, 
a Democrat, was followed by Pierce,' 
a Democrat. Finally, Lincoln, a Re- 
publican, after being twice elected, 
has been succeeded by Johnson, a 

The case of James Monroe does 
not form an exception to the wonder- 
ful indorsement of the ofl&cial acts 
of Southern-born Presidents by the 
great majority of the American peo- 
ple. He was twice elected, and the 

people believed, whether right or 
wrong in that opinion, that they had 
been cheated in the choice of his suc- 
cessor. And at the next election 
they chose a man of the same school 
of politics with Mr. Monroe. We as- 
sert then that while Franklin Pierce 
alone of all the Northern Presidents 
has been sustained by the American 
people, the administration of every 
single Southern President has re- 
ceived the emphatic " well done" 
from the mouths of those who elect- 
ed them. (See Sumner on the Bar- 
barism of Slavery.) We despise 
toadyism, and will not, therefore, 
pay that tribute to the ruling Chief 
Magistrate which our feelings prompt 
us to pay. But it is simple truth, 
and no flattery, to say that if Wash- 
ington has excited the admiration of 
all mankind by rejecting a crown of 
doubtful honor and doubtful dura- 
tion, what will be thought in after 
years of him who has scornfully de- 
clined real, substantial power, com- 
pared with which that of the Auto- 
crat of Russia is as the small dust in 
the balance ? 

It is no objection to the views pre- 
sented above that some of the South- 
ern Presidents did not receive colle- 
giate training, and that one of them 
(Mr. Lincoln) was elected from the 
North and by the North. They were 
all born among a people with whom 
political economy, statesmanship, and 
the science of government were 
household words. The mind of ev- 
ery one of them thus received its 
first bias. Their aspirations were 
thus first turned toward political 
honors. They were thus taught in 
eai'ly life to prize the civic crown 
more than heaps of gold and silver, 
the laurel wreath more than stately 
houses and broad acres ; and a 
change of sky brought with it no 
change of mind. Would Mr. Lin- 
coln, amidst every discouragement, 
have carried out his policy of sup- 
pressing the rebellion with such in- 
flexible obstinacy had he not been 
born among a people with whom po- 
litical failure brought infinitely more 
disgrace fhan failure in business ? If 




Mr. Davis had been born under other 
skies and other influences, would he 
have cking to the last with such des- 
perate tenacity to the idea of South- 
ern independence — 

" Among the hopeless, hopeful only he" ? 

Who can fail to see in their por- 
traits the striking resemblance be- 
tween conqueror and conquered ? 
Both were from the same section of 
the same State, and if not kindred in 
blood, as alleged by some, at least 
wonderfully alike in firmness of will 
and tenacity of purpose. The North 
has paid almost idolatrous honors to 
the memory of Mr. Lincoln. They 
have called him " the second "Wash- 
ington, who saved the life of the na- 
tion to which "Washington gave be- 
ing." It can not be unkind to re- 
mind these admirers that the one 
was a son of Virginia, and the other 
a son of Kentucky, the daughter of 

Another curious instance of that 
political ascendency of which Dr. 
Channing speaks, is shown in this, 
that every Northern President has 
had associated with him as Vice- 
President a man of Southern birth. 
John Adams had as his associate 
Thomas Jefferson ; J. Q. Adams, J. 
C. Calhoun; Martin Van Buren, R. 
M. Johnson ; Franklin Pierce, Wil- 
liam R. King ; James Buchanan, 
John C. Breckinridge. On the other 
hand, Jackson and Calhoun, both 
from South-Carolina, served one term 
together. Harrison, and Tyler, his 
associate, were both from Virginia. 
Lincoln and Andy Johnson were both 
born in the South. (Sumner on the 
Barbarism of Slavery.) But the man- 
ner in which the offices of Secretary 
of State and Secretary of the Treas- 
ury have been filled demonstrates 
the truthfulness of Dr. Channing's 
views in regard to the political ten- 
dency of the Southern mind, and the 
practical and utilitarian character of 
the Northern people. During the 
first fourteen administrations of this 
government, there were from the 
States which held slaves up to 1864 
fourteen Secretaries of State, and 

but eight from the North. In this 
enumeration the officer who held of- 
fice for two terms has been counted 
twice. If we do not so enumerate, 
the South has had thirteen Secreta- 
ries of State, and the North but six, 
(6) — Pickering, Dexter, Adams, Van 
Buren, Webster, and Buchanan. In 
this time the North has had fifteen 
(15) Secretaries of the Treasury, and 
the South but six. Among the lat- 
tes we have included R. J. Walker, 
who was appointed from Mississippi, 
but was born North ; and Louis AIc- 
Lane, who hailed from Delaware, not 
properly recognized as a Southern 
State. During this long period, then, 
we had but four men judged to have 
sufficient financial ability to fill the 
office of Secretary of the Treasury. 
No doubt this opinion has been found- 
ed in reason. We have no men of 
preeminent business talents like those 
who have built up immense fortunes 
in the great cities of the North. Our 
educational system has developed 
theoretic, not practical qualities of 
the mind ; at least not those which 
relate to the monetary affairs of life. 
Once more, the South has had in the 
same period twice as many Attor- 
neys-General as the North, and a few 
more Secretaries of War and Navy. 
The North, on the other hand, has 
had one and a half times as many 
more Postmasters-General than we. 

Tlie facts and figures above have 
been given in warning, not in boast- 
fulness. The pride which we might 
have felt in the glories of the past is 
rebuked by the thought that these 
glories have faded away. It is re- 
buked by the thought that they 
were purchased at the expense of the 
material prosperity of the country ; 
for men of wealth and talents did not 
combine their fortunes, their ener- 
gies, and their intellects to develop 
the immense resources of the land 
of their nativity. What factories 
did they erect ? What mines did 
they dig? What foundries did tliey 
establish ? What machine-shops did 
they build ? What ships did they 
put afloat? Their -minds and their 
hearts were engrossed in the strug- 



gle for national position and national 
honors. The yearning desire was 
ever for political supremacy, and 
never for domestic thrift and econ- 
omy. Hence we became depend- 
ent upon the North for every thing, 
from a lucifer match to a columbiad, 
from a pin to a railroad engine. A 
state of war found us without the 
machinery to make a single percus- 
sion cap for a soldier's rifle, or a 
single button for his jacket. The 
system of labor which erected a 
class covetous of political distinction 
has been forever abolished ; but the 
system of education based upon it is 
still unchanged and unmodified. We 
are now placed far below the reach of 
political power ; but the training of 
cur young men is precisel}'' the same 
as when every collegian looked for- 
ward as a matter of course to the 
time when he should enter upon his 
public career. The old method of 
instruction was never wise ; it is now 
worse than folly — 'tis absolute mad- 
ness. Is not attention to our field 
and firesides of infinitely more im- 
portance to us than attention to na- 
tional affairs ? Is not a practical ac- 
quaintance with the ax, the plane, 
the saw, the anvil, the loom, the 
plow and the mattock, vastly more 
useful to an impoverished people 
than familiarity with the laws of 
nations and the science of govern- 
ment ? What will a knowledge of 
the ancient classics, of metaphysics 
and belles-lettres do to relieve our 
povertj^ ? What will it add to our 
prosperity ? We want' practical 
learning, not scholastic lore. We 
want business men with brain and 
hand for work, not the recluses 
of the library or the convent. A 
McCormick with his reaper is more 
valuable than a Porson with his 
stores of Greek ; a Whitney with 
his cotton-gin than a Bentham with 
his theories of law. And what does 
our educational system do to pro- 
duce such men? If we needed a 
president of a railroad, of a min- 
ing or manufacturing company, who 
would think of going to our colleges 
to select the right man ? What would 

be thought of the sanity of the stock- 
holder who would gravely say, 
" Young A is the very man we 
need ; he was graduated with the 

first honors of College. He 

almost knows by heart the histories 
of Herodotus and Livy in the orig- 
inal tongues. The Right Reverend 
President says he has never had 
a pupil who so thoroughly mastered 
Reid and Hamilton " ? If such a 
speech would be regarded as the ex- 
treme of folly, how conclusively does 
it demonstrate that the long years of 
that training which but disqualifies 
for the practical and useful walks of 
life, have not been spent in a manner 
suitable for our present wants and 
our unfortunate condition, nor to 
our future prospects and develop- 
ment. " Let the dead bury the 
dead." Let the studies pursued 
when prosperity crowned the land 
be buried with that prosperity ; and 
let us have a system which will 
bring a greater beauty and glory to 
our desolate places than ever adorn- 
ed them in the days of their pomp 
and their power. AH unconscious of 
it, though most of us may be, a kind 
Providence is working in the right 
way for the land we love. As a 
people, we specially needed two 
things. AVe needed the cutting off 
the temptation to seek political su- 
premacy, in order that our common 
school, academic and collegiate train- 
ing should be directed to practical 
ends ; not to making orators and 
statesmen, and men whose stores 
of useful knowledge may prove bless- 
ings at home. The state of proba- 
tion, pupilage, vassalage, or whatever 
it, may be called, in which we have 
been placed by the dominant party 
in Congress is, we believe, intended 
by the Griver of every good and perfect 
gift to give us higher and nobler ideas 
of education and of the duties of edu- 
cated men. We deprecate as much 
as any one can a low utilitarianism 
in education. But surely the gifts 
and learning which God has thought 
proper to give to only a few should 
be devoted by them not to promoting 
personal aggrandizement, not to the 




attainment of political honors, but to 
conferring benefits upon the less fa- 
vored classes. We have a right to 
expect that the educated men of the 
country should be the leaders in every 
enterprise of public weal and general 
utility. They have not been so with 
us, for the simple reason that they 
know less of such matters than the 
Ignorant rustics by w^hom they were 
surrounded. We have a right to 
expect that their illiterate neighbors 
should come to them for counsel and 
direction in their useful employments. 
But such an expectation with us, 
under an antiquated routine of stud- 
ies, would be the height of folly. We 
must change all that ; else the waste 
places will never smile again, the de- 
solate habitations will never again 
echo with songs and laughter. In 
this view we cannot but regard our 
anomalous position as a positive good. 
It may be mortifying to our pride to 
be regarded as in the Union for pur- 
poses of taxation and out of it for 
purposes of legislation. But it will 
turn our thoughts from the strife 
of parties and the tilting in the po- 
litical arena to the mightier work at 
home. It will bury our present sys- 
tem of education so deep among the 
fossils of the past, that the most 
curious antiquarian of the future will 
be constrained to say : " No man 
knoweth the place of its sepulchre 
to this day." 

Again, we needed to have manual 
labor made honorable. And here a 
kind Providence has brought good 
out of evil. The best, the purest, 
the most unselfish, the most patri- 
otic of our people are now the poor- 
est. They gave their hearts, their 
energies, their property to the cause 
they believed to be right ; and they 
are honored by all true soldiers who 
fought against them as much as by 
ourselves. We honor that tattered 
coat ; 'tis a fragment of the old gray 
that was in many a storm of shot and 
shell. 'Tis soiled, but it is with the 
smoke of the camp-fire and the bat- 
tle-field. There is no smell of selfish- 
ness and cowardice upon it. We 
can never pass it without a feeling 

of respect, and without invoking 
God's blessing upon the wearer. 
Such a man dignifies labor. Those 
who had no better sense than to de- 
spise it, have learned to respect it for 
his sake. It has become the badge 
of manhood, patriotism, and un- 
selfishness. God is now honoring 
manual labor iciih us as he has 
never done with any other nation. 
It is the high-born, the cultivated, 
the intelligent, the brave, the gen- 
erous, who are now constrained to 
work with their own hands. Labor 
is thus associated in our mind with 
all that is honorable in birth, refined 
in manners, bi'ight in intellect, manly 
in character and magnanimous in 
soul. Much as we regret their mis- 
fortunes for the sake of the noble 
sufl^erers, we doubt not that in the 
long run inestimable blessings will 
flow upon us through these calami- 

Now that labor has been dignified 
and cherished, we want it to be re- 
cognized in our schools and colleges. 
We do not want it to be the labor of 
the mule and the ox. We want it 
controlled and directed by education, 
and to have all the appliances of art 
and science thrown around it. We 
ask for a practical recognition on the 
part of those who have the teaching 
of our youth of the state of things 
now existing. The peasant, who 
would confine the reading of his son 
to Machiavelli's Discourse " On the 
Prince," or Fenelon's "instructions 
to his royal pupils," would be no 
more ignoring his rank and station 
than are our own teachers ignoring 
the condition of the countrJ^ Is the 
law of nations important to us, who 
constitute nor state, nor colony, nor 
territory ? Is the science of mind 
useful to us just now, when our 
highest duty is to mind our own 
business? Will logic help us in 
our reasoning as to wh-ether we are 
in or out of the Union ? Will the 
flowers of rhetoric plant any roses in 
our "burnt districts"? Will ora- 
tory benefit those who have no con- 
stituents to harangue, no legislative 
halls to entrance ? Will political 




economy be as valuable to an im- 
poverished people as a knowledge of 
household economy ? Will the figur- 
ative digging of Greek and Latin roots 
aid us in extracting the real articles 
from our neglected fields ? The old 
plan of education in the palmy days 
of the South gave us orators and 
statesmen, but did nothing to en- 
rich us, nothing to promote material 
greatness. Let not that be said of 
us which Bonaparte said of the 
Bourbons: "They learned nothing; 
they forgot nothing." It is lawful 
to be taught by those who have far 
excelled us in developing the re- 
sources of the country. So great 
and so universal is the attention to 
science among all classes with them, 
that the great orator of New Eng- 
land, a few years ago, was chosen 
to deliver the astronomical discourse 
upon laying the corner-stone of an 
observatory in the West. About the 
same time the eminent President of 
a Southern college delivered and 
published an address to prove that 
the standard of mathematical science 
in our institutions of learning ought 
to be lowered. (Until then we had 
supposed that zero was the lowest 
figure in the table of numbers.) The 
system of instruction proposed by 
this great, good, and wise man was 
no doubt adapted to make pro- 
found thinkers on abstruse and 
metaphysical points; but it could 
never have made one single practical 
and useful man. It could never have 
improved the condition of the poor. 
It could never have added to the ma- 
terial comforts and enjoyments of 
life. It could never have lifted a 
ruined people from the depths of 
misery to a state of affluence and 
independence. It could never have 
made "one blade of grass grow 
where none grew before." We want, 
on the contrary, a comprehensive 
plan of instruction, which will em- 
brace the useful rather than the 

profound, the practical rather than 
the theoretic; a system which will 
take up the ignorant in his degrada- 
tion, enlighten his mind, cultivate 
his heart, and fit him for the solemn 
duties of an immortal being ; a sys- 
tem which will come to the poor in 
his poverty, and instruct him in the 
best method of procuring food, rai- 
ment, and the necessaries of life ; a 
system which will give happiness to 
the many, and not aggrandizement to 
the few ; a system which will foster 
and develop mechanical ingeniiity 
and relieve labor of its burden ; which 
will entwine its laurel wreath around 
the brow of honest industry, and 
frown with contempt upon the idle 
and worthless. When our young 
men come forth from schools, acade- 
mies, and colleges with their minds 
and hearts imbued with this sublime 
teaching, to enter upon the busy 
arena of life, they will be fully 
qualified to turn their strong hands 
and well-stored minds to any and 
every useful employment. Then the 
wilderness and solitary place shall be 
glad for them ; and the desert shall 
rejoice and blossom as the rose. "It 
shall blossom abundantly, and re- 
joice even with joy and singing." 
Then Mali " the days come when the 
plowman shall overtake the reaper, 
and the treader of grapes him that 
soweth seed ; and the mountains 
shall drop sweet wine, and all the 
hills shall melt." Then shall the 
captivity of our people be removed, 
"and they shall build the waste 
cities, and inhabit them; and they 
shall plant vineyards, and drink the 
wine thereof; they shall also make 
gardens, and eat the fruit of them. 
They shall be planted upon their 
land, and shall no more be pulled up 
out of the land," which the Lord 
their God giveth them. 

D. H. H. 

{To le continued.) 


How Great Britain Estimates Ingenuity and Shill. [May, 


There is no royal road to nation- 
al greatness. The ever-abounding 
wealth and unparalleled glory and 
strength of Great Britain are only 
the legitimate result of a wise policy, 
early adopted and efficiently execut- 
&A—tTiat of encouraging skill, and 
rewarding its application to practi- 
cal purposes. 

Whole volumes of facts and ex- 
amples might be adduced, demon- 
strating at once the persistent susten- 
tation of that policy, and its eminent- 
ly beneficial results. But I shall at 
present given only a single noted 
example — that of James Watt, 
noted for his great and beneficent 
improvement of the steam-engine. 

He was of respectable parents, 
but without ancestral distinction. 
He brought himself into notice by 
his own personal efforts. His mind 
was naturally acute and active. He 
was early noted for investigation and 
reflection. His skill and attainment 
soon gave him great prominence. 
Universities conferred upon him their 
highest honors. Various other cor- 
porations and organizations did the 

In honor of him and his discover- 
ies a bronze statue was erected by 
subscription at Glasgow ; another, 
of white marble, was placed in the 
"Hunterian Museum" of the same 
city. But the climax of distinction 
and honor was reached by the action 
of a great public meeting, held after 
his death, in the city of London, 
in which several chief men of the 
realm were the principal actors. 

Cotemporary writers declare that 
the meeting at which it was deter- 
mined to erect a white marble statue 
to the memory of Watt, was one of 
the most interesting that ever was 
held in the metropolis. 

That meeting was held on the 18th 
of June, 1824. Lord Liverpool, then 
Prime Minister, presided. That day 

will be memorable in the history of 
that great nation, as the day in which 
ingenuity and skill reached a culmi- 
nation of dignity and honor unpar- 
alleled in the history of nations. It 
was the great public baptismal also of 
the industrial arts — the high ofiicials 
of the realm standing as ' ' god-fath- 
ers," commending them to the warm 
embrace and the fostering care of the 
nation ! Nor can we wonder at this, 
when we remember how vastly, even 
before that period, that ingenuity and 
those arts had contributed to the 
greatness of that nation. 

In relation to this matter, one of 
their own writers says : 

"It would be singular indeed if the 
arts were not thus honored. And a 
minister of the Crown would be unfit for 
the government of our industrial com 
munity if he did not feel that the greal 
inventions which have grown out of our 
commercial superiority, and which have, 
in a large degree, created that superiority, 
were eminently calculated to claim the 
noblest rewards that the people could 

But the "animus" of the meet- 
ing will be best understood from their 
proceedings. Sir Humphry Davy 
moved the following resolution : 

"That the late James Watt, by his 
profound science, and by his original 
genius, exhibited in his admirable in- 
ventions, has, more than any of his coun- 
trymen, demonstrated the practical utility 
of knowledge, increased the power of 
man over the material world, and ex- 
tended the comforts and enjoyments of 
human life." 

Another resolution, which declarjed 
" that the services of' James Watt 
to the civilized world demanded a 
national tribute of gratitude from his 
country," was proposed by Mr. Hus- 
kisson and seconded by Sir James 
Mackintosh. From the thrilling speech 
of this distinguished philosophical 

1866.] How Great Britain Estimates Ingenuity and SMll. 13 

orator we quote the following para- deserves and demands the attention 
graph : and consideration of every South- 

"In less than half a century, from the ^\ P'^^J'^'l*- ^he ^oisdom of Great 
Mississippi to the Ganges, the name of -Dritain is demonstrated by her ^j(??%. 
Watt has been pronounced, and the bene- -^^^ ^"^ ^^7 Profit greatly from her 
fits of his invention have been proved ! example. It was the only policy that 
If such a vast progress has been made ever could have given to her the vast 
in so small a number of years, Avhat resources and the astounding great- 
hopes may we not entertain of the fu- ness which she has acquired. The 
ture? — seeing that the useful and the very opposite of the course which we 
line arts in combination have spread of the South have followed and laud- 
general information amongst sucli a mul- gd as the only honorable and desira- 
titude of minds -that knowledge has ^i^ ^as made her the mistress 

been placed within the reach oi the hum- ^f +i „ ' „„ j j.u i x- iu 

blest artisans -and that this class of ,f *^^ ""^^ ^"'^ ^^^ glory of the na- 
men for the most part remarkable for „, ' , ■, , ,„ . , 

their intelligent, ingenious, active spirit, , ^^® ^^^ ^^ne herself great honor, 
are full of the desire of instruction."' ^^^o, not only by so hberally patron- 

„, ,- . , ... a rru i ^^^^"g ^^^ ^^*^S' b^t "^ honoring those 

The third resolution, That a to whom she is mainly indebted for 
monument to the niemory of Watt her eminent greatness. Noble traits! 
should be erected m Westminster Commendable example ! 
Abbey," was proposed by Lord .^ith what earnestness and ani- 
Brougham, and seconded by Sir mating power should the trumpet- 

m, /ii "• , • 1 tones of her examples and unparal- 

The followmg paragraph is charac- leled prosperity bear now upon us 
teristic of its distinguished author, of the South in our present prostrate 
Lord Brougham, who said : and crippled condition ! " Go, and do 

"It is to honor the rare and excellent ^^^ likewise." "Emulate this noble 
qualities of his character and genius example, and secure to yourselves 
that we are assembled, with the intention l^^e beneficent results," is what it 
to erect a monument to the memory of earnestly exhorts. B. 

the great engineer. Not that his mem- 
ory has need of a monument to become Editorial Comment. — The statue 
immortal ; for his name will last as long of which our correspondent speaks 
as the power which he has subjected to was erected by Chantrey in West- 
the use of man; but we are assembled minster Abbey, where repose the 
to consecrate his example in the face of ashes of Britain's most illustrious 
the universe and to show to all our ^^^^ Watt was also honored during 
lellow-subiects tnat a man of extraordi- i,- i-^^ -u^ i. • j t t -r. ^ 

nary talent can not better employ it than ^^f ^'^^ by bemg made an LL.D. of 
in rendering services to the human race. ^}^3^^Z ^"l^^^I'Sitj, Correspondent 
And where could we more fitly place the ^i *^® J^^'^"^^ Institute, and Fellow 
monument of this great man than with- <^f ^^e Royal Societies of London and 
in a temple of that religion which preach- Edinburgh. When will America learn 
es peace to all men, and instruction for to lavish her favors upon her great 
the poor ? The Pagan temples were inventors, as she has done upon her 
decorated with the statues of warriors politicians ? Whitney and Fulton 
who had spread desolation amongst the were harassed and annoyed by vex- 
people ! Let ours be adorned with the atious law-suits as the reward of their 
statues of men who have contributed to inventions. McCormick has reaped 
the triumphs of science and humanity, wealth, but no distinctions have been 
tlfhoutTer havin tlT ^l to' f ^^^f^^red upon him. What a revo- 
his fellow^creat^ures^ ha? be?raWe\7ac- ]^^'^^ ^" ^^.^^^^^ ^^^^ \^^^ introduced 
complish works which remain a lasting "^^ *^,? ^^\^x^?^' ^ ^'^^. ^.^® ^ventor, 
honor and benefit to society." ^ native North-Oarolinian, died in 

poverty and obscurity at New-Berne, 

The "life-picture" above exhibited North- Carolina. 


General Wise^s Address. 


The foregoing article is from the 
pen of one who has labored long in 
the field of Southern education, and 
who deeply feels the necessity of 
adapting our educational system to 
the new state of things. But South- 
ern youth are ambitious, and honor 
as well as wealth must attend the 
great inventor and the successful 
artisan, else mechanical skill will 

never be developed among us. 
Charleston has set the example by 
sending to the Legislature a delega- 
tion of mechanics. May the day 
speedily come when inventive talent 
and industry in all its branches will 
meet the reward the most grateful 
to the Southern heart — the approba- 
tion of wise men and fair women. 



JANUARY SOth, 1866. 

subject: "female orphanage." 

Generaxi Wise always throws him- 
self into the breach at the right mo- 
ment. His noble and manly instincts 
always prompt him to do the right 
thing at the right time. Years ago, 
when the wild waves of " Know- 
nothingism" had rolled over the en- 
tire North, and its resistless surges 
had reached our borders, the voice of 
"the old man eloquent" was heard 
above the roar of its waves and the 
war of the elem.ents. The tide rolled 
no further. The storm ceased, and 
there was a great calm. But if ha- 
tred of foreigners and of Catholics 
found no place in the Southern heart, 
it was due to the powerful arguments 
and fiery eloquence of Henry A. 
Wise. A revulsion of feeling took 
place even on the soil whence the 
persecuting spirit sprung. ■ Those 
who had most bitterly denounced 
this class of persons were the very 
first to call upon them to fight their 
Union battles with the South. Meagh- 
er's brigade of Catholic Irish was in 
front for the attack and in rear for 
the retreat, till it ceased to exist at 
the bloody stone wall of Mar3^e's Hill. 
A band of heroes composed that 
staunch brigade as true as any ever 
sent forth by that land of heroes. 

And now, after more than a decade 
of years, the same man, with riper 
experience and maturer wisdom. 

pleads the noblest of causes and 
makes the noblest of appeals — char- 
ity for the orphans of our departed 
heroes. But while he, in his earnest 
and impassioned way, arouses the 
compassion of all, except the gold- 
worshipers, for the children of want 
and of bereavement, he has perform- 
ed a still nobler duty in his thrilling 
tribute to our soldiery. This, too, 
like his onslaught upon Know-noth- 
ingism, came just at the right time. 
There were those among us wearing 
the "toga virilis" who were exceed- 
ingly nervous when the man in blue 
saw them talking with the rusty man 
in gray. There were those who fear- 
ed to welcome back to their homes 
and their firesides the men who had 
gone forth at their behest to peril 
life and limb, and all that the heart 
of man holds dear. General Wise 
has no such craven fear in his large 
heart. He has struck a chord which 
will find a responsive vibration in 
every generous bosom both North 
and South. When men were cring- 
ing and bowing with bated breath, 
he comes out with his magnificent 
eulogy upon the Confederate soldier, 
and his touching entreaty for the or- 
phans of the Confederate dead. The 
great clock of some grand old cathe- 
dral peals out the hour in the black- 
ness of the night, and straightway a 


General Wise''s Address. 


thousand musical chimes welcome 
his voice, and in sweetest strains 
echo it back. So this watchman on 
the tower has struck a note in this 
hour of our gloom and our darkness, 
which will awaken answering melody 
in ten thousand times ten thousand 
hearts all over this broad and beauti- 
ful land, irrespective of sectional 
lines and geographic boundaries. 
Every soul attuned to the music of 
heaven will join in the sublime an- 
them of praise to deeds of heroism 
and constancy, such as the world 
never saw before. "We would not be 
guilty of the mean slander upon 
those who fought us manfully in the 
field to say that they can not appre- 
ciate the grand and the heroic as 
well as ourselves. If they claim a 
common brotherhood, who can deny 
them a right to a common heritage in 
Confederate fame ? 

All honor to the faithful sentinel 
on, his post ! All honor to the old 
hero, who has spoken "words of 
truth and soberness," as well as of 
genuine pathos and thrilling elo- 
quence ! The tribute to "the men 
in the ranks" is "a gem of purest 
ray serene," and we are sure it will 
be admired in all sections of the 
Union. If we neglect to honor these, 
who have deserved so much more 
than "the men of rank," we will 
richly merit a worse fate than our 
most implacable enemies can con- 
ceive, much less prepare, for us. 
There can be no surer mark of na- 
tional degeneracy and public corrup- 
tion than indifference to the great 
deeds of the good, the noble, and the 
true. Rome ceased to be the mis- 
tress of the world when she began to 
neglect her illustrious living and to 
forget her mighty dead. It is an 
encouraging mark of the general dif- 
fusion of right sentiment that many 
of our dead heroes, ay, and some of 
our living ones, too, are as much 
revered in one part of our reiinited 
country as in the other. • The piety 
of Jackson, the daring of Stuart, 
the chivalry of Ashby, the romantic 
gallantry of Pelham, the unyielding 
heroism of Elliott amidst the ruins 

of Sumter — our glorious dead — all 
have contributed to American fame, 
and all are claimed by the American 

But the Address does more than 
mete out justice to the hero-soldier. 
It calls for active, practical, working, 
givmg sympathy with the suffering 
orphan of the martyr-dead. We 
have grievously sinned as a people, 
and God has justly punished us for 
our sins ; but we will commit a dark- 
er, deeper, more deadly sin, if we 
fail to provide for the children of 
those who died for our sakes and 
fighting our battles. And such neg- 
lect will most surely bring upon us 
a heavier and more awful visitation 
of the wrath of God. How can that 
young lady enjoy her trinkets, her 
jewelry, and her gay apparel, when 
the wail of the orphan is in her ears ? 
How dare that young fopling, who 
has never heard the whistle of a hos- 
tile shot, parade his finery about the 
streets, when the children of the man 
in his bloody grave are crying for 
bread ? If not lost to all shame, his 
cheeks would be more crimson than 
the shroud of the martyr. 

The Address of General Wise was 
for the benefit of the orphans in 
Richmond ; but it is appropriate to 
every town, city, village, and coun- 
ti-y-neighborhood in the whole Unit- 
ed States. There are suffering or- 
phans in all of them. The wealthy 
North has them as well as the ruin- 
ed South. The claims of humanity 
are the same in every locality. Let 
provision be made for the orphan of 
the Union soldier as well as of the 
soldier of independence. We honor 
the true soldier wherever found as 
mUch as we loathe and abhor the 
marauder and house-burner, who dis- 
graces the noble profession of arms. 
The implacable, revengeful men of 
the North are not those who fought 
us fairly and squarely face to face. 
The discontented grumblers at the 
South are not those who stuck to 
their colors through every trial, pri- 
vation, suffering, and discourage- 
ment. These feel that they did what 
they could to establish Southern in- 


General Wise's Address. 


dependence ; and, having failed, they the fountains of life flow. It is placed 
will abide by their terms of surren- in the cradle of a parent's care, but 

der in good faith, and leave the issue 
with the Great Ruler of the universe. 
In the most catholic spirit of sym- 
pathy, then, with the suffering or- 
phans of the soldiers, Union and rebel, 
of the whole United States, we com- 
mend the address of General Wise to 
all who have hearts to feel and hands 

still it wails and wants. It then 
cra'wls and cries ; and then toddles up 
in steps to wail, and steps forth to 
play and cries ; and then walks to 
wail on and still on wails, even when 
it stands full up to man or woman- 
hood. Day by day, night and morn- 
ing, from infancy to youth, and from 

to relieve these children of want and 3^outh to age, through all stages of 
misery. that child's existence, whilst a parent 

survives to heed its wants and its 
Mr Friends : I address myself to wails, it will come and come again, 
no speculative theme. I am here to- often and ever, to the parent for sue 
night to utter a cry ! — the most pierc- cor, for care, for caress, for comfort, 
ing to the ears and the hearts of all It is no mere rural English custom 
who have ears and hearts for human for the child of every age to have its 
distress and suffering — the cry of the '■'■ midlenting.,'''' it is the impulse of 
orphan! ofthe most helpless orphans; nature for it to "^o a-motJiering,''^ so 
the cry of the female orphans of your strong is the law that the parent must 
city. It is for food and raiment and ever be the source of some provision 
shelter— for a home, and that that or supply needed by the child, and 
home shall not only be made warm that the child will and must and 
with fuel, but that it shall be made to ever look to its father and its 
glow with a bright burning love, and mother. And to meet this yearning- 
be fed not only with the bread of the dependence of offspring, the instinct- 
grass ofthe fields, but ha filled with ive love and recognition, or storge, as 
the bread of life, and to spare ; that it is called, of parents, has been given 
it shall be so fed and so filled that it to care and provide for offspring. The 
shall give back and give forth the good parent may be weak, the child strong ; 
it has received with the heavenly in- the parent may be poor, the child rich ; 
terest on that good which it shall in old age may whiten both father and 
turn bestow. mother until utter weakness weighs 

man! at best "thy days are them down, and they need help from 
few and full of trouble." A child is children; and yet, there is always 
born, and its first note is a cry — a something which offspring want from 
wail of humanity. From its first parents, and which parents only can 
breath, it wants and it wails. Well give, and when reverent children wait 
it is that nature has provided one upon them with full powers of their 
heart, at least, if none other, to be own, and the best of their own means, 
touched by infant cries, with a thrill it is still the child more than the 
known only to but one on earth. The parent who is served, 
babe is wrapped in swaddling-clothes This strong love of parent and child, 
and it is laid in arms which fold it to if exceeded by any, exceeded only b}'' 
the bosom of a mother ! woman ! that love for which we are commanded 
woman, to whom a child is born, ^7;,(?M to leave father and mother, and to 
knowest, and thou o?2Z?/knowest, what cleave to another, is the only stand- 
a wonder and what a world of holy ard — immense as it is — of the measure 
love is in that fold of thine ! Thou of the bereavement of orphanage. To 
answerest its cries; thou forgettest judge how desolate, how helpless, 
thine oion travail to heed them, and how constantly yearning and crying 
they are hushed by a fountain the in vain orphanage is, we have but to 
holiest and blessedest that ever flowed measure the loss of parents by their 
on earth — a mothers 'breast! The providential care, by their strong- 
child is drawn to that breast whilst storge, by their mighty love, by their 


State Library Of North 
Ralsigh, N.C. 

General Wise's Addrese, 17 

instinctive guardian power and their 
magic 4K>iirce of sympathy and com- 
fort for their own offspring. Well 
may the brightest and bravest babe 
wail the gift of its very being, if it has 
to wail the loss of a father's and a 
mother's blessing. It may smile in 
health and vigor at the bliss of birth ; 
it may bound into being with cherub 
joy ; it may be the child of fortune ; 
it may be wrapped in finest linen and 
be rocked on softest down, and be 
most tenderly watched and waited on, 
waking and sleeping; its cries may 
be hushed by sweetest lullaby ; it 
may be nourished by the ^jop of most 
attentive kindness, and grow and 
bloom in beauty ; it may be the pet 
of a princess ; but if it has, though in 
unconscious infancy, lost its mother — 
if it has to coo to another nurse than 
mother, the time will come when, if 
the mother be not there, that child, 
like the child of the bulrushes, will 
surely find out, and know and feel 
that even the sweet Termuthis, Pha- 
raoh's daughter, or her nurse, is not 
its mother — that it can know no other 
mother than the Jochebed who is its 
own. "By faith, Moses, when he 
was come to years, refused to be called 
the son of Pharaoh's daughter." Yes ! 
the time ever comes to every orphan 
to know and feel — to those, even, who 
never, in infancy, knew and felt a 
parent — that they have no father and 
mother. The bour loill some time 
come that the orphan will know and 
feel that some other child 7i<zs a father 
and a mother, and that it has neither 
parent. And oh ! how sadly old a 
child is suddenly made when it is 
made first to know and feel it is an 
orphan ! 

And if this be so sadly true of for- 
tune's favorite and pet, what must be 
the desolation of the bereavement of 
poverty's orphan child? Shall the 
orphans of the poor live ? How shall 
they live ? Not live the life of mere 
physical existence, but morally and 
intellectually live a life of useful labor 
and of love? Ah ! if no hand be 
reached forth to help them with a 
mighty help, they will, intellectually 
and morally, surely die. Think not, 

VOL. I. — NO. I. 

lowly man of labor ! that this 
should deter thee from seeking to en- 
joy the blessings of marriage and of 
progeny. If Douglas Jerrold's man 
made "all of money," shot through 
heart so that it might be seen through 
and yet survive to shoot out of life in 
a way worse than that of being shot 
through the heart ; or the proud man's 
contumely ; or the selfish, worldly, 
unfeeling, stingy man ; or the miser 
or money - monger, whose piety is 
property, shall say that the poor have 
no right to marry and give in mar- 
riage, and leave children to tax their 
wealth with an orphan asylum, I re- 
pel the impious rebellion against God's 
orders, and tell you that you have not 
only the right to wedlock, but it is 
your duty to love as well as labor ! If 
you have right to space and air, to 
light and flowing water, to think and 
speak, to read and write and work ; 
so it is the highest of your natural 
rights to seek the happiness of matri- 
mony, the holiest tie on earth. You, 
poor but strong young man, are bound 
by God's command to seek a helpmate, 
and to cherish a wife and her child- 
ren. The very desire to do so shall 
elevate your mind, nerve your arm, 
and inspire your heart with the spirit, 
brave and noble, to strike the sturdy 
blows of manly labor, with a right 
good will, to gain the vantage stations 
of life. And the young maiden, with- 
out a dowry, should learn to spin for 
some worthy son of toil, and not re- 
fuse the hand of labor, though poor, 
on whose strong arm she can lean the 
safety of her virtue, in the love and 
purity of wife and mother. That you 
will have to labor is best both for 
parents and their offspring. Labor 
gives the bloom of health and the 
sinew of strength to progeny, and 
provides a country with a country's 
pride — a brave, strong, bold, and noble 
yeomanry — " its irresistible valor and 
heroic force." Do you repel this cheer- 
ful philanthropy, and morosely ask : 
"Why does God make orphans of the 
children of the poor and not so order 
it that they shall have a sure asylum ?' ' 
The question is impious. Leave the 
solution to Him. It is enough for us 


General Wise's Address. 


to know that He once descended from 
the heavens and became as one of the 
poorest of us, of no estate : that "the 
foxes had holes, and the birds of the 
air nests, but he had not where to lay 
his head: " that he took, from the 
poor only a little ointment for his feet, 
and that because he was " 7wt to ie 
always tcitJi «s." But'he told us that 
the poor we " would always have 
with us," and if the poor, then the 
children of the poor were " always to 
be with us," and he left his provision 
for them too — a Christian charity, a 
holy religion which he defined to be 
" pvire and undefiled before God and 
the Father" — " to visit the widow and 
the fatherless, and to keep one's self 
unspotted from the world." He re- 
buked those who hindered " little 
children ' ' from coming to him, and 
he took them in his arms and blessed 
them, and told us "of such is the 
kingdom of heaven." And he told 
us more : " that it were better for one 
to have a millstone tied about his 
neck and to be thrown into the sea 
than to offend one of his little ones." 
If I understand these revelations, 
orphan children, and orphan children 
of the poor especially, are some of his 
" little ones," and they in this world 
who do not visit these "little ones" 
and assist in providing for them, do 
them an ojfense, and incur the divine 
threat of the millstone. The Father 
of us all, in his economy of grace, has 
set poverty, helpless poverty, the 
orphans of the poor, before us in the 
world, like many other trials, to prove 
our virtue and to test our obedience. 
The Infinite Sufferer consented to 
suffering in his own case, and the 
poor may not righteously complain 
that they as well as the sick and the 
lame, and the halt and the blind, and 
the countless other classes of sufferers 
have to bear every one of their own 
burdens in this world : the poor will 
always have to suffer the poverty, but 
the strong and the rich and the hale 
had better beware of giving offense to 
one of these " little ones," by neglect- 
ing the widow and not visiting the 
fatherless of the poor, and thus caus- 
ing them to stumble and to fall. 

world, worldly world, wealthy 
world, working world, vodW fed, 
well clothed, well sheltered, well 
warmed world! fashionable and 
proud world! that word '■^ visiting ^^ 
means that you shall seek to know 
and to supply the wants of the poor : 
that you shall care always for the 
widows and the orphans of the poor, 
and from your abundance satisfy their 
wants : that you shall always have 
them to try your virtue and to make 
you unselfish, loving, kind, and charit- 
able — to keep them from stumbling 
and falling ; to enrich yourselves 
whilst you fill them ; and to make 
you, sooner or later, feel that if you 
do not do this Christian duty, that if 
jou leave them to stumble for want, 
and thus be offended, you shall be left 
to the canker and corrosion of selfish- 
ness and the greed of gold, which will 
be worse than having a millstone 
about the neck and being thrown into 
the sea ! The penalty of the rich or of 
the strong who fail to use righteously 
their wealth or their strength, to help 
the poor and the weak, is sure, if tlie 
asylum of the poor and weak on earth 
is not. Love is the chief solace of 
the poor, and their only treasures and 
jewels are their children. The poor, 
frail, sick mother often shivers in the 
blast, but she bares her own nerves 
to shield her babe and she dies ! 
Who will shield that babe when she 
is taken away ? Alas ! the orphan of 
the poor is bereft of all when father 
and mother are taken away, and it is 
left alone in the world with poverty 
and misery ! Will you not be with it 

But what if that 2)oor orphan is a 
female child ; if feminine weakness 
be added to the helpless infancj^ the 
povert}^ the loneliness of its orphan- 
age ? woman ! born to be a 
mother, that thou shouldst ever be 
bereft of a mother, and thy infancy 
be thus left alone with want, and suf- 
fering, and sorrow, and sin ! With 
nerves most delicately attuned to feel, 
to enjoy, and suffer most acutely ; to 
thrill and quiver at every touch of 
pleasure or of pain ; sensitively affect- 
ed by any rude contact ; capable of 


General Wise's Address. 


the most unselfish, self-sacrificing 
love, and always yearning for its 
smile ; with perceptions keen and 
quick to understand and feel every 
tone, and temper, and motive, and 
manner of treatment to thee ; thus, in 
the tenderness of thy infancy and 
innocence, to be dashed on the hard, 
jagged pavements of the streets and 
alleys of cities ! Well may thy cries 
he heard above the wails of all the 
throng of infantile orphanage ! Thou 
art the tenderest ; thou art the weak- 
est ; thou art the frailest and yet the 
most sensitive of them all ; ah ! more 
still, thou art the most sacred of them 
all ; thou, thyself, mayest be an hon- 
ored mother, and mayest not be a 
mother at all, if thou art abused ; and 
thou wilt be abused if angels seek 
thee not and lead thee not away from 
exposure to the poverty, suffering, 
ignorance and vice of helpless orphan- 
age ! Thou especially art one of the 
"little ones" whom we are forbidden 
to "offend." Thy condition is more 
than miserable if some kind hand does 
not provide for thee an asylum, and 
provide that asylum with the best of 
good things, suitable not only to thy 
state and condition of orphanage, but 
to thy sacred sex ! 

Measured by the love and care of 
parents for their offspring, and by the 
divine economy of the relation of 
parent and child, the fate of orphan- 
age, I repeat, is hard under any con- 
dition of the infant; harder still is the 
orphanage of poverty, and hardest of 
all is the bereavement of the poor 
female orphan. How sad to think, 
then, friends, of a female orphan of 
poverty .1 'bereft in times like these! 
Some of these innocents are under 
two years of age, and their first breath 
inhaled the sulphurous smoke of 
civil war ! The air of their birth was 
lurid with the red rage of their coun- 
trymen making a charnel-house of 
their country, whose every field is a 
graveyard of fathers, husbands, sons, 
brothers ! "War has reigned and ra- 
vaged nearly all the time of the few 
years of their existence; and now, 
that its alarms have ceased, the air 
of svibjugation around them is dank 

and dismal with the exhalation of 
graves and the gloom of ruins ! Fire 
and sulphur have burned and smoked 
the very earth, and its ashes are arid ! 
Oh! the barrenness and pallor and 
yet the putridity and stench of the 
stricken corpse of a country ! All the 
rivers of plenty have been dried up ! 
The grass sprouts and grows from 
blood only ; the rains of peace can not 
wash it away ! Want, want, want, 
cries ! Suffering groans ! Crime is 
rampant all around these innocents ! 
Their land is the corpse of the past. 
They have no past and no country. 
None have a country who have no 

"Alas poor country ! It can not 
Be called our mother, but our grave !" 

Finance has failed. Confederate 
funds are dross, and Federal currency 
is sought after and caught at eagerly, 
but as eagerly passed on from hand 
to hand for him to pay the forfeit in 
whose»hands it goes out ; and gold is 
kept so close that the needy strong 
can hardly help themselves. There 
is no harvest but for those who have 
most of bread, and what harvest there 
is has no laborers — no husbandmen. 
The arms of the laborers were turned 
into the arms of the invaders, and 
laborers and invaders are now both 
consumers of the substance of a 
people who have been stripped bare, 
and now have but little to spare ! 
These orphans, then, must surely 
sorely suffer in these times, unless the 
charity of each and every one of us 
shall enlarge herself and be mighty 
in more than ordinary exertion of ac- 
tive love and liberality and self-denial. 
But, my friends, these times of stag- 
nation atnd apparent starvation ; these 
times of stunning after sudden shock ; 
these times of strange changes, as 
startling as bursting bombshells ; 
these times of shifting chances, as 
trying to the strongest nerves as bat- 
tle's batteries ; these are the times to 
prove our truth, our piety, our pa- 
triotism, our endurance, our constan- 
cy, and these are the times, more 
than ever, to be true to ourselves 
and to each other ! — to comrades who 


General Wise''s Address. 


are dead as well as to those who are 

There are among these infants not 
only orphans, orphans of the poor, 
female orphans, and orphans whose 
lot has been cast in dreary and des- 
olate time's ; but some of these are 
the female orphans of deceased and 
disabled Confederate • soldiers, pri- 
vates in the ranks which jou embat- 
tled for your independence. You failed 
only by the fall of such men. They 
fell for you, and you fell. Are any 
afraid or ashamed to embrace them 
in the fall? Listen, whilst I repeat 
truths which you must not try and 
must not dare to forget ; truths which, 
if you do not gratefully recognize and 
openly avow and maintain at all ha- 
zards, without the fear of showing 
sympathy, if not without some re- 
proach, shame ! shame ! shame ! shall 
so shout and hoot at shrimped, and 
shriveled, sordid, selfish souls as to 
shake them like misers' money-bags, 
until with appalling jars theTr coin- 
idols shall be jostled out and scatter- 
ed to street-beggars and vagrants of 
the "Arts of Industrie !" War itself 
appalled not the hearts of the Confed- 
erate heroes who fell ; and war is now 
over; the cloud has burst; the light- 
ning hath done its scathing; the 
thunder hath ceased to mutter; in 
honor's name, then, let craven cring- 
ing cease ! 

The noblest band of men who 
ever fought or who ever fell in the 
annals of war, whose glorious deeds 
history ever took pen to record, were, 
I exultingly claim, the private sol- 
diers in the armies of the great Con- 
federate cause. Whether right or 
wrong in the cause which they es- 
poused, they were earnest and honest 
patriots in their convictions, who 
thought that they were right to defend 
their own, their native land, its soil, 
its altars, and its honor. They felt 
that they were no rebels and no trai- 
tors in obeying their State sovereign- 
ties, and they thought that it was 
lawful to take up arms under their 
mandates, authorized expressly by 
the Federal Constitution, to repel 
invasion or to suppress insurrection. 

when there was such '•'■ imminerd 
danger as not to admit of delay.'''' 
The only reason for the delay which 
could have been demanded of them 
was to have appealed to the invaders 
themselves for defense against their 
own invasion ; and whether there was 
imminent danger or not, events have 
proved. They have been invaded un- 
til every blade of grass has been trod- 
den down, until every sanctuary of 
temple, and fane, and altar, and home 
has been profaned. The most of these 
men had no stately mansions for their 
homes ; no slaves to plow and plant 
any broad fields of theirs ; no stocks 
or investments in interest-bearing 
funds. They were poor, but proudly 
patriotic and indomitably brave. 
Their country was their only heri- 
tage. The mothers and wives and 
daughters buckled on the belts, and 
sent husbands and sons and brothers 
forth, and women toiled for the bread 
and spun the raiment of "little ones" 
of "sAaH^2/" homes in country, or of 
shops in town, whilst their champions 
of defense were in their country's 
camps, or marches, or trenches, or 
battles ! They faithfully followed lead- 
ers whom they trusted and honored. 
Nor Cabinets, nor Congress, nor Com- 
missariat, nor Quartermaster's De- 
partment, nor speculators, nor spies, 
nor renegades, nor enemy's emis- 
saries, nor poverty, nor privation, 
nor heat, nor cold, nor sufferings, nor 
toil, nor danger, nor wounds, nor 
death could impair their constancy ! 
They fought with a devout confi- 
dence and courage which was un- 
conquerable save by starvation, block- 
ade, overwhelming numbers, foreign 
dupes and mercenaries, Yankeedom, 
Negrodom, and death ! Prodigies of 
valor, miracles of victories, undoubt- 
ed and undoubting devotion and en- 
durance to the last, entitled them to 
honors of surrender which gilded the 
arms of their victors and extorted 
from them even cheers on the battle- 
field where at last they yielded for 
Peace ! Alas ! how many thousands 
had fallen before their few surviving 
comrades laid down their arms ! Of 
these men of the ranks their beloved 


General Wise^s Address. 


leader, General R. E. Lee, said to me 
during the last winter on the lines : 
" Sir, the men of this war who will 
deserve the most honor and gratitude 
are 7iot the men ofranh, hut the men 
of the rcmJcs — the privates !" I cor- 
dially concurred in the justice and 
truth of the compliment, for I had 
seen them tried on the rocks of Coal 
river, of Gauley, and the Pocotalico. 
I had tested their endurance in the 
marches and countermarches, and 
scouting and skirmishing, of the Ka- 
nawha Valley ; I had seen them in a 
first fight and victory against all odds 
at Scary, and their last stand against 
greater odds on the Sewall moun- 
tains ; I had seen their constancy 
and courage proved at Hawk's Nest, 
at Honey Creek, at Big Creek, at 
Carnifax Ferry, and at Camp Defi- 
ance, in North-west Virginia. I had 
seen them leap with alacrity to the 
defense of Roanoke Island, knowing 
when they went that they could not 
return but as captives or corpses. I 
have seen them in the " Slaughter 
Pen" there slay twice their own num- 
bers before they stacked the arms for 
which they had no ammunition. I 
have seen them employ their leisure 
and amuse their ennui at ChafBn's 
farm by mechanic arts for the army 
of a blockaded country ! I have seen 
their efficiency on the peninsulas of 
the James and York, and of the Chic- 
kahominy and Pamunkey. I have 
seen their successful strategy at Wil- 
liamsburgh and Whitaker's Mill, 
and their steadiness in the din of 
metal at Malvern Hill. I have seen 
their temper and spirit tried in the 
lagoons and galls of the Edisto and 
Stono, and their pluck on John's Is- 
land, in South-Carolina. I have 
heard the shouts of the Virginia men 
when ordered back from South-Caro- 
lina and Florida to rally again around 
the altars of home, and heard them 
raise the slogan of "Old Virginia 
Never Tire," when they pressed for- 
ward to open the defile at Nottoway 
Bridge, and rushed to Petersburg in 
time twice to save the Cockade City 
against odds of more than ten to one. 
I have seen them drive through the 

barricade and cut at Walthall June" 
tion, and storm the lines at How 
left's, not for five days only, but for 
twice five days' successive fighting. 
I have seen them on the picket-lines 
and in the trenches, throughout all 
seasons of the yeai", in heat and cold, 
day and night, in storm and sunshine, 
often without food fit to feed brutes, 
with not enough of that ; without half 
enough of fuel, or clothing, or blan- 
kets ; under the most incessant fire 
of shot and shell ; without forage for 
transportation, and without transport- 
ation for forage ; scarce of ordnance 
stores ; not supplied with medicines 
for the hospital ; all the time rolling 
a Sisyphean stone of parapet, and 
traverse, and breastwork, and bomb- 
proof, for the want of material for 
revetment, and for the want of tools 
to dig out and work up the indis- 
pensable lines of defenses. I have 
seen their manhood worn by every 
variety of disease and wounds in the 
hospital wards. Starved, half-naked, 
rest broken, I have seen them sum- 
moned to stand to or to storm the 
breach, and do it, filling ditches and 
a crater full of the assailant's dead. 
I have seen their brigades blasted by 
the shock of mines, and rise from the 
debris and rubbish to repel and con- 
quer the storming enemy. I have 
seen them bivouacked on the right of 
Hatcher's Run, and on the ever me- 
morable days of the 29th and 31st of 
March last, advance first one, then 
two, then less than three brigades, on 
the Military and Boydton plank 
roads, against two corps^ and fight 
them for hours, and so stagger them 
that they dared not follow the retreat. 
I have seen them on the quick night 
march to Church Crossings, and 
thence hnrried to the Namozine, to 
Flat Creek, to Big Creek, to Sailor's 
Creek, to the High Bridge, and to 
Farmville, marching and charging, 
and charging and marching, and 
starving, but not sleeping or stopping 
on the way but to work or to fight. 
And I have seen them fire their last 
volleys at Appomattox ; and often- 
times in marches, on picket, in the 
trenches, in camps, and in charges, I 


General Wises Address. 


have seen them sad and almost sink ; 
but I never saw their tears until their 
beloved commander-in-chief ordered 
them to surrender their arms. Then 
they wept, and many of them broke 
their trusty weapons ! The blessed 
and ever glorious dead were not there 
to surrender, and they are not here 
to defend their memories from the 
taint of the reproach of rebellion and 
treason. Alas ! I am alive and here, 
and am bound, at every hazard, to 
declare that those men were no re- 
bels and no traitors. Let whoever 
will swear that they were rebels and 
traitors, I will contradict the oath, 
and appeal to God on the Holy of 
Holies as high as Heaven's throne, 
and swear that they were pure pa- 
triots^ loyal citizens, well tried and 
true soldiers, Irave, honest, devoted 
men, who proved their faith in their 
principles by the deaths which canon- 
ized them immortal heroes and mar- 
tyrs ! No one shall inscribe the epi- 
taphs of rebellion and treason upon 
the tombs of their dead, without my 
burning protest being uttered against 
the foul and false profanation. And 
if any wounds of the living are label- 
ed with rebellion and treason, I 
M^ould tear away the infamy though 
the wounds should bleed unto death. 
If I suffer their names to be dishon- 
ored and their glory to be tarnished, 
and don't gainsay the reproach, may 
my tongue cleave to the roof of my 
mouth ; and if I suffer their orphans 
to be outcasts for the want of sym- 
pathy, warmly outspoken and more 
warmly felt, may my right hand for- 
get its cunning ! Alas ! in these times 
it has no cunning, for it has no coins. 
I, too, am a beggar. I can beg, then, 
and do beg like a Belisarius, for them. 
Please give them one obolus ! Have 
you a crumb to spare? Divide it with 
them ! Have you comfort, give them. 
I implore you, give them some of 
your abundance ! Their enemies who 
slew their fathers honor them enough 
to feed their poor orphans ! They 
won't hurt you for daring to do deeds 
of charity. Many of them are brave 
men, and the brave are always gen- 
erous to the brave. The orphan, the 

orphan of the poor, the female orphan, 
the orphan fallen on evil times, the 
Confederate soldier's orphan girl- 
child, cry to you ! Will you not heed 
their cries and in some way help the 
helpless ones ? If you will not, then 
may we apostrophize the manes of 
their martyred sires, in the lan- 
guage of the Lays of the Scottish 
Cavaliers : 

. . . " Last of Freemen — 

Last of all that dauntless race 
Who would rather die unsullied 

Than outlive the land's disgrace — 
thou lion-hearted warrior ! 

Reck not of the after-time : 
Honor may be deemed dishonor, 

Loyalty be called a crime. 
Sleep in peace with kindred ashes 

Of the noble and the true, 
Hands that never failed their country, 

Hearts that never baseness knew !" 

But if you will heed and help their 
cry, the question then is — How ? 

It is to no corporate charity that I 
appeal — it is to no charity which 
doles merely to indigence — it is to no 
charity which gives benefactions only 
to the poor. I appeal to a higher, a 
more Christian charity, the charity of 
active goodness, the doing as well as 
the giving charity of good affection, 
of earnest, watchful love and tender 
kindness. The necessaries of life and 
comfort are all wanting and must be 
supplied ; but they are nothing com- 
pared with the warm, attentive love 
and sympathy which administer care- 
ful, tender, delicate services, which 
remind them not that they are or- 
phans, and make them feel that they 
have guardians who try to supply the 
place of parents and provide a haven, 
a safe and sure home, for them on 
earth, and thus assure them that thej'- 
in common with us have " Our Fa- 
ther which art in heaven !" Don't 
throw plenty even to them as to the 
dogs ; they won't thank you for plen- 
ty even, thus given ; but give them 
" that manna" which is the "bread 
of life !" That it is which Mnll not 
only help them to live, but will make 
you love to give, so that you as well 
as they may live forever. This is 
that bread which feedeth him who 
freely from the heart giveth it to feed 


General Wise^'s Address. 


the poor. When he tastes their eat- 
ing of it, he shall find it so sweet that 
he will give more and more. 

We can not feed the poor and nur- 
ture their orphans by any " Grad- 
grind" system ! Dickens, the Shake- 
speare of prose, teaches in Hard 
Times the best lessons on that hard- 
est of subjects for human hearts to 
digest — men's minds can not master 
it. It is a subject for the affections, 
not for the intellects. We must rely 
on individual, active love and good- 
ness. Let us try each individual of 
every class. Can not all and each of 
us here this night resolve that the 
single virtue of self-denial alone shall 
raise the funds necessary for this 
asylum ? Let each individual consti- 
tute himself or herself a self-denial's 
savings bank for the female orphans 
of the poor of Richmond. Let each, 
like Theodore, the hermit of Tene- 
riffe, take a self- examining view of 
the myriads of little monads of habits 
which infest our nature, which tangle 
our powers, which bother our busi- 
ness, which hinder our action, which 
beset our steps, which torture our 
nerves, which weaken our enei'gies, 
which pervert our wills and hearts, 
and which, like malicious midges, 
divert or distract us from the paths of 
pleasantness and of peace. The hab- 
its of all cause countless expenses, 
unnecessary, wasteful, and extrava- 
gant. Let us each and all curb these, 
and try watchfully to save from them 
the needful for the orphans. I might, 
for example, appeal to the man of the 
world, and ask him, "head of a 
household of high living" — can't he 
give up the expenses of one, or two, 
or three costly entertainments, taken 
from Timon's guests, to feed the or- 
phans of Athens ? 

I might ask the fashionable matron, 
"Have you, madam, no costly weak- 
nesses you could make tributary to 
the poor orphans of your own sex ? 
Come, now, you are amiable. I see 
one, two, three little vanities — very 
small — very venial, to be sure — so 
small there will be no sacrifice — can't 
you catch and curb the little monads, 
and send them over to the asylum ? 

You are nursing them now, and they 
will be nursing orphans there. 

Fair maiden — fresh, sweet, lovely 
lass of lassitude ! How much of 
morning and of moonlight do you 
titter and tattle away ? How much 
to the mantua-maker and the jeweler 
the past year ? Can't you spare the 
price of one costly trinket ? Come to 
an old wizard, and he can tell you a 
secret worth more than a necklace of 
precious pearls — how to get a troits- 
seau for a bride richer than rubies 
and brighter than diamonds ! Instead 
of laces, it shall be decked with 
graces ! 

I could scowl from the young- 
gentleman at the door of the gamb- 
ler's hell a saving from vice. Don't 
he go there ? Good. But is there no 
other habit he can curtail a penny's 
worth for penury's sake? 

I might coax even little children to 
believe that St. Nicholas might love 
them more if they would take a toy 
to the baker's for a loaf of love for 
the orphans ! I would lure them to 
the asylum to play with the little 
children, like themselves, and teach 
them that joys of loving them are 
more precious than toys. 

I could beg the poor themselves — 
the fathers and mothers who, though 
poor, yet live and love their own 
children. They can love and they can 
labor. Can't they strike one love- 
lick of labor for the orphans of the 
poor wdio have died ? Remember 
their own cherished infants may soon 
need an orphan's home ! 

I might rally merchants and men 
of business ; men of pleasure and pro- 
fessional men ; lawyers, doctors, and 
mechanics, and the surviving com- 
rades of Confederate soldiers — all to 
deny, each himself, a morsel to make 
up a mighty much of blessed bounty 
for the bereft; but such scraping for 
crumbs from worldliness, from human 
weakness, from vanity and selfish- 
ness, and thoughtless indifference 
and vice, is below the heavenly theme. 
They will or may dole a mite to-day, 
but will forget the privilege of giving 
again to-morrow ! They will not stop 
work, or pleasure, or f\incy, or fash- 


Agricultural Science. 


ion, to count the accumulations of 
self-denial, who prize only the income 
of self-aggrandizement or the outlays 
of self-indulgence ! Tliey can not be 
convinced of what glorious and wond- 
rous profits of great good a bank of 
self-denial's savings will yield to the 
corporators themselves, as well as to 
the poor beneficiaries of bounty, be- 
cause they know not how to count 
the rewards of angel-deeds, which, if 
they enable us not to ascend to hea- 
ven, can bring down heaven to us ! 

No! orphans, you must look to 
Christian charity alone ! To all Christ- 
ians, then, and to all the churches I 
appeal. To thee, Charity! great- 
est of all Christian virtues, I lead 
these poor female orphan little ones! 
All these orphans are thine ; thou art 
the true nursing mother of all ! Take 
all by the hand and bless them ; but 
nursing mother ! let the poor 
female orphan, in these evil times, in 
this chill winter of woe, be thy chosen 

child ! Take her to thy arms and 
press Tier close to thy sweet hosom ! 

"We are beautifully told in sacred 
biogi'aphy that " ease and affluence 
generally harden the heart. If it be 
well with the selfish man himself, he 
little cares what others endure. But 
religion teaches another lesson : ' Love 
to God, whom we have not seen,' will 
always be productive of ' love to men, 
whom we have seen.' From the root 
of faith many kindred stems spring 
up ; and all bring forth fruit. There 
arises the stately plant of heavenly- 
mindedness, producing the golden 
apples of self-governm.ent, self-denial, 
and contempt of the world ; and close 
by its side, and sheltered by its 
branches, gentle sympathy expands 
its blossoms and breathe its perfumes 
■ — consolation to the affdcted and re- 
lief to the miserable P'' You have the 
"golden apples," whose "sympathy" 
expands these blossoms and breathes 
these perfumes ! 


Agriculture is both a science and 
an art. Every science, and its de- 
pendent art, is a connected system, 
linked together by such intimate de- 
pendencies, that each must feel the 
shock that impedes or impels the 
other. All labor, too, which is not 
simply undirected physical exertion, 
with no other guide than accident or 
chance, is but the practical outgoing 
of scientific principle, however crude- 
ly digested or imperfectly compre- 
hended ; so that the zealous, earnest 
worker in every department is the 
true friend and coadjutor of his bi'o- 
ther in every other. Art is the pro- 
genitor of science; but science, in its 
turn, becomes the nurse and guide of 
art: science suggests ; art illustrates 
and confirms : a principle in the one 
is a rule to the other. Science, with- 
out the practical demonstrations of 
art, is simply theory : art, without 
the guidance and control of science, 
can not be more than em^nricisni. 
Separated, neither can flourish ; but 

when united, a mutual interchange 
of life and light, like the mild and 
gentle radiance of a diffused sun- 
shine, scatters warmth and energy 
through all the system. 

Such is the relation of agricultural 
science to agricultural art. One can 
not flourish without the othei''; they 
are parts of a connected whole ; and 
if our country is ever to realize the 
highest results of her industrial sys- 
tem, the foundation must be laid in 
a systematic application of scientific 
principles to all the departments of la- 
bor. Would you expect a skillful phy- 
sician in the man who knows nothing 
of the science of medicine, the nature 
of disease, or the functions of life ? 
Could that surgeon perform a skill- 
ful operation who had never studied 
the anatomy of the human body ? 
The ruined health of all who came 
under the treatment of the first 
would convict him of quackery ; and 
the mangled bodies of those who 
submitted to the knife of the sec- 


Agricultural Science. 


ond, would demonstrate that he was 
only a licensed butcher. And what 
would the wasted hillsides, the 
vrashed and gullied ravines, and the 
barren fields of the South say for 
the tillers of our soil,? But this 
must always be the case when sci- 
ence and art are divorced ; both must 
suffer from the unnatural estrange- 

Indeed, it may be asserted, not 
only of every particular science and 
its dependent art, but of the entire 
sisterhood of science and art, that 
each is the assistant and handmaid 
of every other. It is the astronomer 
who instructs the merchant in what 
path to carry his freighted wealth 
over the trackless ocean ; and if he 
toils through anxious days and 
nights to correct, by a single sec- 
ond, the record of his former calcu- 
lations, it is that the hardy sailor 
may attain an equal accuracy in 
avoiding the perils of the deep : on 
the other hand, the astronomer is 
not less indebted to the artisan, who 
constructed his instruments, to the 
optician, who has expounded the 
laws of light, and to the chemist, 
who has taught him the nature and 
composition of his lenses. If the 
science of geology instructs the farm- 
er relative to the source and origin 
of his soils, or the miner concerning 
the nature and locality of his ores, 
or the geogi'apher as to the causes of 
mountain ranges and the configura- 
tion of land and sea; in return, the 
whole range of art and science pour 
their accumulated treasures into the 
lap of geology. So, too, the science 
of agriculture, contributing not mere- 
ly to this or that department of la- 
bor, but, by the production of food 
and raiment, ministering at the very 
fountain of life itself, may be re- 
garded as the foundation and sup- 
port of all. But, if upon it all are 
dependent, so with reciprocal gene- 
rosity and kindness to it, all contrib- 
ute the offering of their peculiar 
treasures. The botanist brings to his 
aid a knowledge of the habits and 
functions of the vegetable which the 
farmer cultivates ; the zoologist in- 

structs him in the nature and wants 
of the animals he emplo3rs for food 
or service ; the entomologist enlight- 
ens him relative .to the changes and 
habits of the insects Avhich prey 
upon his crops ; the mineralogist and 
geologist tell him of the origin and 
general properties of his soil ; the 
meteorologist and astronomer in- 
struct him as to his times and sea- 
sons ; while chemistrj^ his special 
ally and friend, is associated with all 
he does, and must, of necessity, be 
the ground-work of whatever monu- 
ment shall be erected to agricultural 
science in all coming time. By it 
his soils are to be analyzed, his ma- 
nures composted, his crops furnished 
with suitable nutriment, the ele- 
ments of air and earth made tributa- 
ry to his purposes. 

What has already been accom- 
plished for agriculture by the science 
of chemistrjr, we can scarcely fully 
comprehend. Imagine the alchem- 
ist of a former age, searching for the 
seeds of the metals which he main- 
tained were to be found in the earth, 
and the foliage and flowers of which 
he fancied that he saw in the crystal- 
line structure of some of the native 
ores, and we get a glimpse of the 
darkness which chemistry has dis- 
pelled from the region of organic 
life. Imagine even Aristotle, that 
prince of philosophers, whose theo- 
ries ruled with such an iron despot- 
ism, for so many years, over the 
hearts and minds of men, gravely 
maintaining that fire, air, water, and 
earth were the sole original elements 
of matter, and that these were form- 
ed from "primary qualities," as fire 
from "heat and dryness," air from 
" heat and' moisture," water from 
" cold and moisture," and earth from 
" cold and dryness," and we see 
something of the jargon from which 
agricultural science has been rescued 
by the helping hand of the analytic 
chemist. These are general results. 

What then, more definitely, has 
agricultural science accomplished for 
agricultural art ? 

In the first place, it has removed 
an immense burden of prejudice 


Agricultural Science. 


and superstition. Nothing offers a 
more formidable barrier to progress 
of any kind than the prejudices of 
the human mind. But chemistry, by 
appealing to the understanding, and 
demonstrating its teachings by sim- 
ple experiments divested of all com- 
plexit}^^ has rendered nature's re- 
sponses clear and intelligible ; has 
disarmed the mind of its prejudices, 
and started it actively upon a new 
career of intelligent and rational 

He who had once seen the beauti- 
ful experiment by which water is re- 
solved, through galvanic agency, into 
its gaseous components, and these 
same gases recomposed again into 
w^ater, could no longer dream of 
"primary qualities," or of "cold 
and moisture," as the constituent 
elements of this useful and common 
article. And when Lavoisier had 
separated oxygen from the air by 
an equally simple and convincing- 
process, it was natural, perhaps, 
that this singular substance, invisi- 
ble, combustible, powerful in all its 
affinities, should have suggested to 
the mind vague impressions of ghosts 
that fill the air, and that with it the 
whole class of bodies to which it be- 
longs should have been called gas, 
(gast or ghost, as the word originally 
signified,) but it was now no longer 
possible to hold to the doctrine of an 
elcmentar^r body composed of " heat 
and moisture." The most inveterate 
prejudices must eventually yield to 
the stern logic of fticts, and it is the 
peculiar province of chemistry to ap- 
peal to focts, to submit all her teach- 
ings to experimental tests in which 
the problem to be solved is referred 
directly to nature herself. And 
thus, inch by inch, reason and ex- 
periment have triumphed over ig- 
norance, till the old prejudice against 
"scientific farming" as distinguish- 
ed from "practical farming" is fast 
passing awa}^ and the good sense of 
our people is convincing them that 
all true science and all true prac- 
tice are alike based upon principles 
derived from experience and observa- 
tion. Practice that is false is unsci- 

entific ; and science that contradicts 
correct practice is untrue. The prac- 
tical man, if he succeeds, must suc- 
ceed on the principles of true sci- 
ence, however he may have attained 
it ; and the scientific man teaches 
only a partial or a false philosophy, 
if he does not confirm successful 
practice. To array one correct 
principle against another, and call 
it science is a misnomer. We have 
heard of the clerical former who, ar- 
guing most logically from an unques- 
tioned principle in the nature of the 
animal, concluded that if he would 
introduce his hogs into his potato 
patch, they would root up the grass 
Avhich had become troublesome. Of 
course he was not disappointed; the 
grass was rooted up — and the pota- 
toes also. Another, with equal phi- 
losophic acuteness, knowing that the 
proper place for seeds to germinate 
is in the ground, is said to have care- 
fully uprooted and inverted all his 
garden beans, because they came up 
with the bean attached to the wrong 
end. This may be poetry ; it is cer- 
tainl}^ not science ; and it is well 
that our " practical " and " scienti- 
fic" formers have ceased to dispute 
about their respective merits; for it 
will be admitted that, in all such 
cases as the above, the "science" is 
at least as good as the "practice." 

Superstition is closely allied to 
prejudice; the mind deeply imbued 
with the one, is always a mind ob- 
stinately affected by the other, and 
the two evils so interlace that they 
are not always separable. Super- 
stition suggests an opinion, and this 
opinion, held without reason, and 
often against reason, becomes the 
basis of an inveterate prejudice, 
which is the more incurable because 
it pretends to no rational support. 
Chemistry, by inducing a habit of 
careful analysis, gradually under- 
mines those superstitions, and being 
led along in the sure path of clear 
inductive reasoning, with the firm 
foothold of intellectual conviction to 
rest upon at every step, the mind 
first doubts, then suspects, and fin- 
ally discards every thing that can 


Agricultural Science. 


not stand the test of the retort and 
crucible. "What agriculturist thus 
trained in the school of science 
would blame the phases of the 
moon, or the conjunction of the 
planets, for the failure of his crop 
of potatoes and turnips ? We plant 
in the earth, not in the moon, and 
if we fail — 

" The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But ill ourselves." 

But the prevalence of some of 
these fallacies entitles them to a 
more serious attention than a mere- 
ly passing notice. They have taken 
hold largely of the popular mind, 
and in so far as they influence pop- 
ular action, have become, to that ex- 
tent, a public calamity. 

True, some progress has been 
made. The sage prediction of 
"Look-for-rain-about-this-time," ex- 
tending from the top of the page to 
the bottom, in our old almanacs, is 
fast losing its ancient prestige, and 
the poor old man who has stood for 
so many years transfixed by darts 
from head to foot, on the first page, 
is likely to escape from his tortures 
in these more Christian times. The 
constellations have nearly ceased to 
pour their baleful light upon his de- 
voted head ; but the gentle, quiet 
moon, and a few of our sister plan- 
ets, have not entirely ceased to work 
their spells and charms upon the 

Moonlight, we are told, in a few 
hours will produce decay in fish 
freshly caught from the stream, and 
thrown upon the bank. Turnips 
should be sown, potatoes planted, 
meat killed, soap made — in a word, 
almost every thing should be done 
according to some phase of the moon, 
whilst, on the other hand, almost 
every thing she does portends some 
change in the economy of nature. If 
she runs far north, it will be cold ; if 
she lies on her back when new, the 
month will be dry ; with each of her 
changes, there will be a change of 
weather ; and if, perchance, she 
should come into conjunction with 

one or more of the planets, or they 
with each other, something more 
than usually remarkable must occur 
in the heavens or earth to signalize 
the event. 

Now, as to all these atmospheric 
changes, it ought to be sufficient 
simply to suggest that the moon, in 
her night walk through the sky, 
is guided by immutable laws, which 
have never changed since the world 
began, and from which she will never 
deviate till the crack of doom. By 
these laws the astronomer can trace 
her path with all her changes, dur 
ing every second of time to the re- 
motest ages. But the "wind blow- 
eth where it listeth," and who can 
tell what changes of heat or cold, 
wet or dry, sunshine or storm, a 
single hour may produce ? Nothing 
can be more constant or certain than 
the movements of the moon — noth- 
ing more fickle or uncertain than the 
changes of the weather ; and how, 
then, can we hope to trace between 
them any relations of cause and ef- 

As to the influence of the moon's 
light, it ought to suflice to say that 
the moon's light is only reflected 
sunlight, just such as falls upon us 
from every object around us on the 
earth ; it has no mystic charm. 
Earth-shine is just as good as moon- 
shine. In fact, moonlight is pecu- 
liarly unfitted for working wonders 
of any kind ; for, owing to the ab- 
sorption of its heat by the atmos- 
phere through which it comes to us, 
it is impossible to detect the smallest 
trace of calorific power in the most 
concentrated moon-beam ; it is a 
cold, dead, sepulchral light, that has 
lost even the life-giving power which 
it had in common with other sun- 
beams when it started from the par- 
ent source. Then how can the so- 
called changes of the moon, which 
only means that more or less of her 
illuminated surface is exposed to 
view, effect any thing ? The moon 
can not change. It is the same 
moon now that it was four thousand 
years ago, when watched by shep- 
herds on the plains of Ohaldea ; it 


Agricultural Science. 


never waxes nor wanes except in ap- 
pearance. The full moon is no larger 
than the new moon ; it remains un- 
changeably the same dull, earthy 
mattei", covered with cliffs and vol- 
canic craters, probably without air 
or water, and unable to sprout a tur- 
nip even upon its own rugged and 
barren surface. 

How absurdly, then, does it claim 
to wield an almost boundless power 
over the productions and every thing 
else on this distant world of ours ! 
Truly, one would scarcely have sus- 
pected such a " busybody in other 
men's matters" in this same quiet, 
gentle moon, stealing so softly across 
the midnight sky. 

But we are gravely told that the 
attraction of the moon causes the 
tides, and if the mighty ocean 
heaves and swells beneath her sway, 
why may not these other things 
upon the earth ? We answer, simply 
because they are otlier things, and 
entirely different things ; and for 
that very reason require other agen- 
cies and powers to effect the pro- 
posed result. If the moon, in com- 
mon with all other bodies in the 
universe, has the power of attract- 
ing matter, and thus drawing up 
the water of the ocean into tides, 
does it follow that therefore it can 
do every thing else — make turnips 
and potatoes as well as soap — con- 
trol and direct the seasons, and send 
us hoar-frost at its pleasure ? Strange 
philosophy that ! 

But our honest farmer might have 
easily multiplied cases of lunar in- 
fluence, far more striking than even 
the ocean tides, and certainly more 
philosophic than soap-making, if he 
had adhered to the results of univer- 
sal gravitation, of which the tides 
are only a particular example. 
Through this all-pervading princi- 
ple of attraction, possessed by the 
moon in common with all other 
matter, she lays her mighty hand 
upon the solid earth itself, and 
swings him to and fro in his orbit ; 
and by the same far-reaching power 
extends her sceptre, though with a 
milder sway, through all the host 

of heaven, ascending through the 
ranks of suns and systems to the 
utmost bounds of the universe of 
God. This the moon may do be- 
cause it is her legitimate domain, 
the common office of all dead mat- 
ter ; but science must protest, with 
all due deference to her queenly ma- 
jesty, against usurped authority and 
juggling arts. 

But, it may be asked, if all this 
popular belief about the moon is 
erroneous, how can it be accounted 
for that so many intelligent practical 
men are thus deceived, seeing that 
it is a practical matter, appealing to 
every day's expei'ience, and in a 
manner, too, most intimately affect- 
ing their personal interests ? Such 
misjudgments are not at all surpris- 
ing ; they are perfectly natural ; it 
has been so in all ages. Man is a 
religious as well as an intellectual 
being. He not only seeks for the 
reason of things, but when the light 
of reason fails him, and he finds 
some power external to himselt 
working results he can not compre- 
hend, his instincts incline him to 
ascribe these results to some myste- 
rious influence residing somewhere 
in nature. On this principle, the 
sun, moon, and stars have in all 
past time been objects of religious 
homage to the ignorant. The whole 
class of soothsayers and aruspices of 
the Greeks and Komans belong to 
this same category. The j^ounger 
Cyrus, just before the fatal battle in 
which he lost his life, and in which 
were blasted all the hopes of his de- 
voted followers, publicly announced 
to his assembled army that his sooth- 
sayers had examined the entrails of 
the sacrifices, and that all the omens 
were favorable. The aruspex was 
the high-priest of the religion of a 
whole people, who could appeal to 
their daily experience to prove that 
the quivering entrails of a butchered 
victim unmistakably foreshadowed 
the fate of battles and the destiny 
of men and nations. The croak of 
the raven, the flight of birds, the 
path of the meteor, were all portents 
of good or evil. 


Agricultural Science. 


Now, how is it that the learned 
and philosophic Greek, as well as 
the practical and astute Roman, 
could for so many ages appeal to 
his unquestioned experience, in de- 
fense of the truth and practices of 
an art, the absurdity of which is 
now too gross even to deserve a seri- 
ous refutation ? The ancient sooth- 
saj'^er was deceived, just as the mod- 
ern moon-man is deceived ; both 
loosely observed the facts, and more 
looseljr reasoned from their premises, 
rejecting every thing which bore not 
in the direction of their preconceived 
theories ; and as their facts proved 
nothing either waj^, like negative char- 
acters generally, they were only the 
more easily distorted into any shape 
the required argument might demand. 

What shall we say then ? Does 
human testimony go for naught? 
By no means. But the opinions of 
those whose habits of observation 
are loose and superficial, and the ob- 
servations themselves scattered and 
accidental, should weigh but little in 
the scale against those whose whole 
Hfe has been devoted specially to the 
subject under discussion. Which, 
for instance, should be received as 
most reliable, the crude opinions of 
the common observer, based only 
upon isolated phenomena of nature, 
or the whole body of astronomers, 
whose life-long studies especially fit 
them for analyzing the facts, and 
who have not only their own obser- 
vations to guide them, but have also, 
in their observatories, the carefully 
collated records of centurieSj by 
other men, equally devoted to the 
questions in dispute ? 

Do jo\x ask what these learned 
astronomers, after all their accumu- 
lated and laborious research, have 
concluded ? Why, simply this, that 
thejr find absolutely no certain traces 
of effects from lunar changes in all 
the records of their observatories. 

Theoretically, it might have been 
supposed that there M'ould be a 
slight decrease of rain during the 
brighter phases of the moon, be- 
cause the moonbeams must contain 
heat, in common with all other light 

originating from the sun, and as this 
heat never reaches the earth, but is 
absorbed by our atmosphere, it might 
be supposed that its absorption M'ould, 
to an appreciable extent, dissipate the 
clouds that otherwise might have 
fallen in showers. 

Theoretically, also, we might have 
expected that the lunar attraction, by 
producing tides in the air, as it does 
upon the ocean, would have sensibly 
affected the condition of our weather 
— not monthly, as the popular im- 
pression would require, but like the 
tides of the ocean, daily, and even 
twice per day. But no such expec- 
tations have been realized. These 
effects, if they are produced at all, 
are obliterated by other causes, or 
are so insignificant as to be lost 
among the errors of observation. 

In fact, if any difference in the 
weather regularly occurs during the 
month, the evidence, from carefully 
comparing the records, points only 
to a time between the first half-moon 
and the full — the second octant — a 
time not indicated either by popular 
credulity or any known scientific 
principle. The evidence in favor of 
this period is indeed very slight, 
only a small fraction of an inch in 
barometric pressure— too small to 
be detected by any other method 
than that of appealing to a long-con- 
tinued record of facts, carefully made 
and accurately analyzed ; but still 
the evidence, small as it is, seems to 
have some force, for it is consistent 
and all the lines converge to the same 
point. One set of observations upon 
the number of rainy days ; another 
upon the number of cloudy days ; 
and a third upon the indications of 
the barometer, all point to the sec- 
ond octant of the moon as the period 
of most rain. Why it should be so, 
if indeed it reallj^ is, neither science 
nor popular opinion pretends to de- 
cide — it is purely an induction from 
recorded facts. These facts show no 
other change. 

Then are we to conclude that all 
the facts alleged in favor of these 
popular beliefs are erroneous, merelj'' 
creatures of the imagination? Not 


Agricultural Science. 


at all. The Aicts are sometimes 
facts, but the poor moon is not to 
blame if they are. It may be, for 
instance, true, and no doubt is, that 
fish or any other kind of flesh will 
spoil sooner on a bright moonlight 
night than when it is cloudj' ; but 
only because the dew is heavier on 
such nights, and the moisture, as 
well as the gases absorbed by dew, 
greatly facilitates decomposition. So, 
too, in regard to the germinating of 
seeds; the dew, and not the moon 
or the moon's light, must be held re- 
sponsible, if there be a difference : 
any clear, still night which favors the 
deposition of dew would do as well. 

Again, it is certainly true that 
when the full moon runs far north 
the temperature of the M^eather will 
more probably be cold than when it' 
is far south ; but the simple reason 
is, that the first never occurs except 
in winter, and the second only dur- 
ing summer; for when the moon is 
full it must alwaj^s be in the oppo- 
site part of the heavens from the 
sun, and as the sun runs far south 
in winter, the full moon of necessity 
runs far north ; there is only a coin- 
cidence, but no connection between 
the phenomena of cold and the 
moon's position. 

But surely, it is urged, the moon 
does afi'ect the diseases of the human 
family ; for lunacy and epilepsy de- 
monstrate the fact, and even the 
great Lord Bacon always fiiinted 
when the moon was eclipsed. If 
the great Bacon had faith enough in 
the moon to allow a superstitious 
dread to disturb his shattered 
nerves, it only proves, what the 
world has long known, that even 
great men often have weak points. 

We admit that there is a tendency 
in the animal system to return, at 
regular intervals, after a series of 
changes, to the same physical state. 
This tendency is common to man 
and brute, to male and female, and 
we have no doubt that these recur- 
ring changes modify disease. The 
period itself may coi'respond very 
nearly to a month, as we know in 
some cases it actually does, or it 

may include only a few days, as in 
the case of intermittent fevers ; but 
whether it be one month or one day, 
it in no sense can be caused by any 
peculiar phase of the moon. It 
would be as rational to insist that 
the third da3'^'s sun caused the ter- 
tian fever, as to hold that the thirty 
daj^s' moon produced the epilepsy. 

How fanciful, too, is the impression 
that pork killed during the decrease 
of the moon will shrink awaj'', while 
that slaughtered during the increase 
will not. Is it the argument from 
analogy that carries such convincing 
power to the popular mind on this 
point — ^^that as the moon is waning, 
therefore the meat must wane ? But 
the moon waxes, also, and then what 
a happy thought it would be, during 
these times of pressure, when corn is 
scarce, and hogs have already waned 
quite enough, to bu}'- up large sup- 
phes of meat and slaughter it when 
the moon's waxing process is in full 
tide ! Such a speculation would be 
Avorthy of a down-east Yankee. But, 
perchance, we have missed the argu- 
ment, and it is, that our veritable 
porker has heard that the great Lord 
Chancellor himself was accustomed 
to swoon away at the changes of the 
moon, and that, therefore, all true 
'hacon should do likewise ; we know 
it is said that there is a loyal branch 
of this Bacon family down East, 
whose hams, (wooden,) defying all 
precedent in heaven or earth, obsti- 
nately refuse either to wax or wane. 
But be that as it may, the argument 
is at least as good as it was before, 
for we w'ould prefer for ourselves, in 
so grave a question as that of meat 
and bread, some more sure reliance 
than a vague analogy to rest upon ; 
and even if shut up to the necessity 
of an analogical argument, we would 
prefer to draw our analogy from a 
waning corn-crib rather than a wan- 
ing moon. 

What, then, can be the cause of 
the undisputed fact that our hams of 
bacon do sometimes shrink away ? 
Two causes may be assigned. First, 
the character of the food that made 
the bacon ; and second, the unhealthy 


Agricultural Science. 


condition of the animal that digested 
the food. Every intelligent former 
ought to know that the different por- 
tions of the flesh of animals are com- 
posed of different elements, and that 
appropriate food to supply these ele- 
ments is necessary. The solid parts, 
for instance, such as muscles and 
sinews, must contain nitrogen, and 
in the absence of food which can sup- 
ply this necessity, no muscle can be 
formed, or if the supply is only 
partial the result will correspond. 
Would you expect a stout, muscular, 
hardy animal to result from feeding 
upon turnips alone, as well as if corn, 
wheat, and peas were added ? The 
child fed upon arrowroot may have a 
round, plump limb, but it is com- 
posed of soft, cellular, fatty matter, 
which would shrink away far sooner 
than the solid muscular development 
of the laboring man. And if, in the 
second place, any morbid, unhealthy 
action in the vital functions should 
cause a development of a soft, cellu- 
lar, unsound flesh, of course the same 
result would follow. So with our 

But we will pursue our fickle and 
inconstant neighbor, the moon, no 
further. We have thus fully con- 
sidered' her powers and capabilities 
in order the more efficiently to pro- 
test against the unauthorized manner 
in which she has hitherto interfered 
with the business of our farmers. 
We will now dismiss her ladyship, 
hoping that in future she may be 
permitted quietly to confine her at- 
tention at home to the "man in the 
moon," and that no more of his pro- 
geny may be colonized in this far-oflf 
world of ours ; and that our people, 
thus left to themselves, may seek to 
develop their own resources, and 
promote the best interests of the 
"land we love." 

We have been discussing diffi- 
culties in the way of agricultural 
pi'ogress. To return more directly 
to a consideration of the science of 
agriculture itself, we would insist 
that this is now one of the great ne- 
cessities of the South. Our young 
men should be taught its elements 

in the primary schools, its practical 
details on the model farm, and tho- 
roughly grounded in all its scientific 
principles at the college and univer- 
sity. If to secure the greatest good, 
not only to the greatest number, but 
the highest interests of all, is a safe 
principle for the guidance of nations 
or communities, surelj'' that pursuit 
which is to engage the personal at- 
tention of nine tenths of our people, 
and upon which the remainder must 
depend for bread, deserves special 
attention. If we would not have our 
sons and daughters to be merel}' au- 
tomatons going the round of a tread- 
mill process, our people must now 
aM^ake to the reality of their situa- 
tion. Labor — personal, manual la- 
bor — is now a necessitj'-, and to re- 
lieve it from the servility of mere 
routine drudgery — to elevate it to 
the character and tone of our South- 
ern society, it must not be simply 
machine-work ; it must be a culti- 
vated, intellectual pursuit — one that 
enlists all the warmth of the South- 
ern heart and all the energies of the 
Southern head. And why not ? 
The farmer stands in the very work- 
shop of nature herself He is the 
assistant chemist in the laboratory, 
where the great Master chemist, by 
his reagents and solvents, is m.eta- 
morphosing t?ie gross materials of 
our barn-yards and compost heaps 
into beautiful fruits and flowers, and 
converting the dull earth of our mea- 
dows into luxuriant fields of wheat 
and corn. And shall he stand by, 
amid these scenes of curious and 
wonderful phenomena, and look on 
only M'ith a stupid vacant stare, as 
one would gaze at the handicraft of 
a juggler whose tricks he could not 
understand, and of whose science he 
knows nothing ? Or should he not 
rather, by fitting himself for an intel- 
ligent cooperation, take hold of the 
chemicals himself, and assist in the 
performance of the grand experiments 
going on around him ? How is this 
to be accomplished without the ne- 
cessary preparatory training ? It 
can not be. Then let our Southern 
education be remodeled to meet the 


A^icultural Science. 


demands of the times ; let our schools, 
academies, colleges, and universities 
recognize the changes that have come 
over our people. It must be so, or 
we must lose the high preeminence 
vre have gained for thorough intelli- 
gence upon all subjects engaging our 
attention, as well as for that sterling 
common-sense by which an enlight- 
ened people should always accommo- 
date themselves to the necesssties 
that surround them. "\Ye would not 
abandon the classic fields of Greece 
and Rome, nor neglect to cultivate the 
gentle slopes of Helicon and Parnas- 
sus ; we would neglect nothing ele- 
vating, purifying, and refining, in all 
that has contributed to our character 
as a people in the past ; but, pre- 
serving that character intact, we 
would engraft upon it our new con- 
dition, and, by the process of a vital 
digestion, assimilate all its elements 
to the true Southern type. 

Why should not agriculture, the 
great business of our people, be thus 
ennobled and dignified by a special 
and suitable scholastic preparation? 
Can there be any position in life in 
which the refining and pleasure-giv- 
ing influences of knowledge are more 
needed to relieve the mind and cheer 
the heart, than among the hardy, 
earnest, toil-worn children of the 
farm ? Or can there be any pursuit 
which has more practical connec- 
tions with other branches of know- 
ledge than the cultivation of the soil ? 
We have already pointed out some 
of the sources of knowledge tributary 
to this calling, and the list might ea- 
sily be so extended as to demonstrate 
that, instead of the neglect it re- 
ceives, the science of agriculture, b}^ 
its intimate dependence upon so wide 
a range of human learning, is entitled, 
as few other pursuits can be, to be 
lifted from tiie low level of a mechan- 
ic art to the high dignity of a learn- 
ed profession. 

This change is now practic^^ble. 
Under a former s^^stcm when our 
3'oung men had but little to do, b}'' 
a precocious hot-house culture, their 
primary training in academies and 
colleges was necessarily too hurried ; 

time was not allowed for laying the 
foundation sufficiently broad or deep. 
Now it is different. The necessity 
for attending to business details and 
assisting in all the duties of flimily 
economj^, will put a wholesome check 
upon the railroad speed of our edu- 
cational system, and allow time and 
opportunity for inculcating not only 
the elements of an agricultural edu- 
cation, but for converting every fire- 
side and country farm into a practi- 
cal school for agricultural science. 
The universities of Europe impose a 
course of stud}^ requiring for its 
completion the time of their students 
till they become from twenty-five to 
thirtj'' 3'ears old ; and could we not, 
in even less time, accomplish all that 
is trul}'' excellent in our curriculum, 
and engraft upon it, in addition, these 
new features, so eminentlj^ required 
by the times, and so easil}'' appli- 
cable, now that our young men will 
be in the daily practice, at home, of 
the principles illustrated in the teach- 
er's laboratory at school '? That agri- 
culture can be successfully^ introduced 
and taught even in the primary 
school, is no longer a speculation. 
More than twenty years ago three 
thousand Irish schools adopted the 
system, and the Scotch about the 
same time followed their example. 
Two or three hours per week devoted 
to the children of a class, produced 
results that astonished and gratified 
all who witnessed them. These fevf 
hours, with the aid of such an ele- 
mentary book as Johnston's " Cate- 
chism of Agricultural Chemistry," 
and a few simple illustrative experi- 
ments suggested by the author him- 
self, such as any intelligent teacher 
could easily repeat, are all that is re- 
quired at this stage of the instruc- 
tion. A higher development will re- 
quire a systematic home training, or 
a model farm, under the aye of the 
pupil, to test the accurac}' of iiis sci- 
entific principles ; while a scientific 
school, attached to our regular col- 
leges, and taught by the professors 
of the regular facult}^ could carry on 
the work to a tolerable degree of per- 
fection. The bias given to the mind 

1866. J 

Agricultural Science. 


in youth generally directs, the whole 
current of life ; and a taste for agri- 
cultural pursuits, thus engrafted upon 
the young by the studies of the 
school-room, would start the current 
in the right direction, the impetus 
would carry it forward by its own 
momentum, till our people, hitherto 
too much devoted to the pursuit of 
elegant leisure, would find them- 
selves naturally and easily borne on- 
ward by the stream into the fields of 
energetic business life and productive 

Nor would we confine this course 
of instruction to the males alone. 
Why should our young ladies not 
become expert gardeners ? Must 
they who have so refined and polish- 
ed our society under a former sys- 
tem, become under the new only me- 
chanical "helps," and not a "help- 
meet" to their farming husbands? 
Surely not. Every instinct of the 
Southern heart rebels against it. 
Then let them, by an appropriate 
scientific education, be rendered fit 
companions for their loving "lords," 
so that, while the one is delighted in 
the open fields, converting muck and 
mud into nice dishes of peas and po- 
tatoes, the other may, with equal 
pleasure, contemplate her sauce-pans 
and ovens converted into chemist's 
crucibles, full of curious and inter- 
esting phenomena. Thus the drud- 
gery of daily life may become a source 
of high intellectual enjoyment, and 
the toil of a rural retreat refining 
and elevating to the last degree. 

But elevation and refinement is 
not our only plea, though this to a 
Southern mind is much — very much. 
A nation of scientific agriculturists 
is necessarily a nation of material 
progress. Consider what has already 
been done in the mechanical depart- 
ment by the substitution of the cot- 
ton-gin for the old process of picking 
out each seed from the raw lint with 
the fingers ; or by the invention of 
the horse-reaper, which, as compared 
with the old hand-sickle, multiplies 
the efficiency of human labor a thou- 
sand-fold ; or by the application of 
the steam-plow, through the intro- 

VOL. I. — ^NO. I. 

duction of which instead of the old 
wooden harrow, human labor may 
be reduced to a minimum, in the pro- 
cess of simply directing the forces of 
nature. - 

Now, science is as capable of ad- 
vancement and perfection as art ; the 
theoretical as the practical ; the prin- 
ciple as its application. Witness the 
illustration of astronomy : from the 
first crude observations of roving- 
shepherds as they watched their 
flocks by night, it has advanced step 
by step, till the man of science, sit- 
ting in his easy-chair, can now weigh 
the moon as readily as he can weigh 
a feather, or track a comet in its long 
flight of years as readily as the hun- 
ter tracks the hare. 

And why may not agriculture, in 
like manner, approximate an exact 
science, so that under the guidance 
of established laws we may increase 
its products at will to any desirable 
amount ? Consider what has already 
been accomphshed toward increas- 
ing the fertility of soils naturally ste- 
rile and unproductive. Flanders was 
once a poor sandy region, scarcely 
repaying the laborer for his hard arid 
patient toil. Scientific manuring, 
careful culture, and systematic rota 
tion, have now converted the whole 
country into a luxuriant garden, 
yielding annual crops of thirty-two 
bushels of wheat, fifty-two of oats, 
and three hundred and fifty of pota- 
toes per acre, and supporting on its 
once barren surface the densest pop- 
ulation of any country on the globe. 

Will it be said, in discouragement 
of this hope of attaining perfection in 
the agricultural department, that the 
science of astronomy deals only with 
blind physical forces, unvarying in 
their action and universal in their 
application, while the science of agri 
culture has to do with the myste- 
rious principle of life, and the ever- 
varying functions of vegetable organ- 
isms ? This in no way alters the 
nature of the case. Every thing is 
mysterious till investigation has ren- 
dered its laws and their operations 
simple and intelligible. This was 
equally true of astronomy once. And 


Agricultural Science. 


the laws of organic phenomena are 
subject to just as unalterable condi- 
tions as the forces that guide the 
planets in their revolutions. All are 
alike the physical exponents of the 
will of Him who is " the same yes- 
terday, to-day, and forever" — tliat 
will sustains and energizes all the 
powers of nature, and- by it the least 
organic cell is assigned its law, as 
fixed and irrevocable as that which 
directs the stars in their course. 
Not a process in all the varied func- 
tions of the vegetable kingdom can 
add to or subtract a single atom from 
the composition of its fibre ; a thou- 
sand analyses of starch or gluten 
would exhibit the same identical 
composition — not an atom more or 
less; for He who "weighs the hills 
in a balance " apportions every thing 
by the strictest rules of weight and 

That the vital functions are less 
fully understood only shows their 
greater complexity, and the more ur- 
gent need of increased attention ; but 
that these functions are performed 
by the ordinary laws of nature, under 
the guidance and direction of a vital 
principle, is demonstrated by the fact 
that many of the phenomena of vege- 
table life can be reproduced by the 
chemist in his laboratory. Starch, 
for instance, a vegetable product, is 
often converted, by a vital process, 
into sugar, to serve as a nutriment 
for the young and tender germ of 
the plant ; the chemist repeats this 
process at his pleasure. Formic acid 
and oxalic acid, likewise products of 
the vital principle, are equally pro- 
ducts of the chemist's art. So of 
many other things. Even in the de- 
partment of animal life, " hard-boiled 
albumen and muscular fibre," says 
Liebig, " can be dissolved in a decoc- 
tion of a calf's stomach, to which a 
few drops of muriatic acid have been 
added, precisely as in the stomach it- 
self" On this same principle, too, 
of the dependence of the vital pro- 
cess upon the ordinary laws of mat- 
ter, rests the whole science of medi- 
cine. Will it be denied that the 
skillful physician can, by promoting 

the activity of a torpid organ in one 
place, or applying a counter-irritant 
in another, restore the lost equilibri- 
um of nature and establish the health 
of the invalid ? His medicines are 
only chemical reagents which, by 
their active affinities, produce the 
requisite conditions for healthy vital 
action in the animal economy. How 
much more, then, may we hope for 
in the less complex department of 
vegetable life, where experiments may 
be repeated with the utmost freedom, 
under every possible condition, with- 
out the moral restraint of endanger- 
ing life, such as hinders the research- 
es of the physician. Would it be too 
much to expect that God, in his infi- 
nite wisdom, is slowly preparing the 
earth, by the agency of agricultural 
science, for the sustenance of its pop- 
ulation, when millions have accumu- 
lated on its surface, where only hun- 
dreds may now be counted ? It is 
thus, by his provident care and mer- 
cy, that millions now are warmed and 
sustained in regions where no wood 
exists, by the coal-fields and peat- 
bogs, accumulated in past geologic 
ages. In like manner we know that 
he has treasured up the very element 
most sought after by the practical 
farmer, in exhaustless abundance, in 
the very air we breathe, where it 
only awaits the discovery of some 
chemical process, by which it can be 
made directly available for the uses 
of the farm ; and the discovery in 
the laboratories of science of some 
new process by which the nutriment 
of plants might be rendered a thou- 
sand-fold more abundant, or by which 
this nutriment might be taken up 
and assimilated a thousand-fold more 
readily and actively than at present, 
would scarcely strike us with so 
much surprise as the actual applica- 
tions of steam and electricity would 
do if now announced for the first 
time. If it be too much to assert 
that the time may possibly come 
when the farmer can calculate the 
amount and character of his crops 
with as much certainty as the astron- 
omer predicts the time and character 
of an eclipse, it is due to no fault of 


Hints to Parents. 


his science, but only to the fact, that God has reserved their control to 

there are unknown quantities in the himself, that man may not forget the 

problem beyond his reach, such as great moral lessons of dependence 

heat and cold, sunshine and storm, and humility. J. R. B. 

which he can not eliminate, because 


Excess of cold equally with excess 
of heat hardens the earth and unfits 
it for tillage. Undue coldness and 
severity alike with undue fondness 
and indulgence ruin the moral culti- 
vation and development of the child. 
Parents in their intercourse with 
their children should shun an aus- 
tere manner and a stiff" formalism as 
much as real harshness and cruelty. 
Water drops its impurities before it 
is changed into ice. Other solutions 
in the same way deposit their sedi- 
ment ere they are converted into 
those beautiful crystals which please 
and refresh the eye. If we wish the 
characters of our children to crys- 
tallise into lovely and symmetrical 
forms, we must remove from them 
depraved and dissolute companions. 
Those accustomed to an unwhole- 
some atmosphere and to noxious 
smells are at length not aware of 
the pollution in which they live ; 
so familiarity with impurity takes 
away the perception of it. When 
the parent perceives that his son is 
not shocked by coarse, vulgar, and 
obscene language, he may be sure 
that the associates of that son are 
the vile and the vicious. 

Parents and teachers often become 
discouraged by the slow progress of 
their children as pupils in the attain- 
ment of knowledge. But they should 
reflect that the most precocious are 
seldom in the long run the most emi- 
nent. The first-honor men of col- 
leges are not often heard of again in 
after life. The slow, persevering 
plodder is sure to gain rank, fame, 
and fortune, while the brilliant ge- 
nius but too often sinks into ob- 
scurity. Nature itself seems to teach 
a system of gradual developmeiij;. 

The sun does not burst upon the 
earth in full meridian splendour. It 
first sends forth its harbingers of 
light, next peeps softly over the 
horizon, then rises with a softened 
light, gathers his glories around him 
as he ascends in his high career, and 
not until the eye has become ac- 
customed to his increased magnifi- 
cence does he put forth his full over- 
powering lustre. The little shrub is 
many generations expanding into the 
majestic oak, under whose mighty 
arms the beasts of the forest seek 
shelter and repose. On the other 
hand, "ill weeds grow apace" is a 
proverb as true as it is old. It is 
then not the lack of brilliancy that is 
to be deplored in the child, but the 
lack of energy, perseverance, and de- 
termination. This latter want can 
only be remedied by judicious help 
and encouragement, by making know- 
ledge attractive, and by stimulating 
the desire of the child for its acquisi- 
tion. Let him feel that he is in the 
pursuit of something not merely use- 
ful and necessary, but that is pleas- 
ant in itself, and that will add to his 
comfort and happiness. His own 
self-love then will prompt him to a 
persistent effort after an attainable 
good. The love of knowledge is na- 
tural to the human mind, and its ac- 
quisition would be universal did not 
difficulties conflict with the still great- 
er love of ease and self-indulgence. 
Yet we see indolent men make pain- 
ful exertions for the sake of gratify- 
ing their passions or their appetites. 
The idle, listless, irresolute student 
may in like manner be incited to 
manly work by the hope of future 
enjoyment in the stores of learning 
he will have acquired. There is a 


Hints to Parents. 


pleasure to all, even to the most 
sluggish minds, in knowing some- 
thing not known before ; there is a 
pleasure in conquering the obstacle 
which has kept that thing from being 
known earlier. Now these two power- 
ful auxiliaries nature has given to 
the parent or teacher to aid him 
in training and developing the fa- 
culties of the child. Hence the im- 
propriety of repressing his curiosity 
and of refusing to answer his thou- 
sand natural inquiries about the name, 
the nature, or the reason of things. 
Light is the symbol of knowledge in 
all languages. And just as the plant 
or the tree desires light, so does the 
human mind naturally desire know- 
ledge." Place a plant in a dark cellar 
with but a single aperture where 
sunshine can enter, it will put forth 
its tendrils toward that aperture 
seeking for light. The twig in the 
forest overshadowed by its neigh- 
bors of larger growth, shoots up 
into a slender tree, and seeks to 
overtop them, that it may receive 
the much-coveted rays of the sun. 
In the bosom of every child there 
is the same struggle after, the same 
longing for unattained knowledge. 
Gratify that earnest desire, that his 
mind may be vigorous like the sturdy 
oak, which has grown up in the sun- 
shiny plain. Especially should he 
be instructed about the mysteries 
of his own nature, his relations to his 
Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier, 
the realities of an eternity of misery 
or happiness. We believe that few 
have attained to even intellectual 
greatness whose moral nature was 
not cultivated pari j^assu with their 
mental. And as the moral develop- 
ment has usually devolved upon the 
mother, it has passed into a common 
belief that no man ever attained to 
eminence who had not a remarkable 
mother. Hence the very natural mis- 
take that intellectual gifts were de- 
rived from the mother. And we are 
referred in proof of this to Letitia, 
the mother of Napoleon ; to Mary, 
the mother of Washington ; to the 
mother of President Jackson ; to 
the mother of the brothers Hum- 

boldt ; of Sir William Jones ; of Tel- 
ford the engineeer ; of John Wesley ; 
of Philip Henry, Count de Morny, 
and of hundreds of others who have 
risen to eminence. But the simple 
explanation is to be found in the 
religious character of the mother. 
Women are more devotional than 
men, and when the training of their 
children has devolved chiefly upon 
them, the Bible has been the book 
of instruction placed in the hands 
of their sons : and this is superior 
to all other books for mere intel- 
lectual training. A study of its pre- 
cious contents will develop and 
will strengthen the mental faculties 
more fully than all the literature 
of earth. Sir William Jones, the 
great Oriental scholar, has left this 
decided testimony : " I have carefully 
and regularly perused the Holy Scrip- 
tures, and am of opinion that the vol- 
ume, independentlyof its divine origin, 
contains more sublimity, purer mo- 
rality, more important history, and 
finer strains of eloquence than can 
le collected from all other booJcs, in 
whatever language they may tiave 
been written." This is the opinion of 
no tyro in literature, but of one who 
had read more books in other tongues 
than ajiy man of his age. A love of 
learning may be excited in the dullest 
boy, and his dormant powers may be 
aroused by the reading of the simple 
stories in the Old Testament, or the 
parables of the Saviour in the New. 
But not only will his mental faculties 
be expanded ; the moral nature will 
also be reached, and there will be 
that simultaneous development, with- 
out which there can be no true great- 
ness. The pious mother instructs 
her son in the truths of the Bible, 
not to make him intellectually great 
but morally good. The chief ob- 
ject maybe lost, while the secondary 
one is gained. Thus men have be- 
come great, because their mothers 
have been pious. And the world, 
with its usual proneness to err, 
has ascribed the greatness to the in- 
tellectual, and not to the combined 
intellectual and moral training of the 
mother. A lesson is here taught 


Hints to Parents. 


even to the wordly-minded, who 
desire for their children the honors 
and distinctions of this life. This 
can be best attained by imbuing their 
minds with biblical lore. When Lord 
Chatham had to make any great ef- 
fort in Parliament, he shut himself 
up in his study and read Isaiah, that 
his mind might receive the rapturous 
glow of the inspired prophet. The 
greatest essayist of any age draws 
his most beautiful and forcible figures 
from the Bible. From hence the most 
celebrated poets of the world have 
derived their glow of fancy, their 
loftiness of style, and their sub- 
limity of ideas. To this source the 
wisest of legislators have gone for the 
best code of laws. Here the great 
painters of the world have sought 
subjects for their canvas, and their 
masterpieces have been representa- 
tions of scenes or thoughts in its 
sacred pages. Here 'men of science 
have found the truest interpretations 
of the mysteries of nature. Hence 
the great luminaries of that depart- 
ment of knowledge, Newton, Leib- 
nitz, Pascal, the Bernouillis, Her- 
schel, Horsley, Stewart, Locke, Flam- 
steed, Chalmers, Bachman, Whewell, 
etc., have made its mighty truths 
the study not of their leisure mo- 
ments, but of their lives. Professor 
Huxley has justly said : "True science 
and true religion are twin sisters ; and 
the separation of either from the other 
is sure to prove the death of both. 
Science prospers exactly in propor- 
tion as it is religious ; and religion 
flourishes exactly in proportion to 
the scientific depth and firmness of 
its basis. The great deeds of phi- 
losophers have teen less the fruit of 
their intellect than of the direction 
of that intellect ty an eminejitly re- 
ligious tone of mind. Truth has 
yielded herself rather to their pa- 
tience, their love, their single-heart- 
edness, and their self-denial than to 
their logical acumen." The sentence 
quoted above affords the true expla- 
nation of the phenomenon so often 
observed, that distinguished men have 
had remarkable mothers. No man 
has ever become really great in the 

widest and best sense of the word 
who did not receive in his youth 
that religious training which usually 
devolves upon the mother. It was 
" the direction of their intellects by 
an eminently religious tone of mind" 
which constituted the greatness of 
Washington and Stonewall Jackson. 
Men who have not had that bent 
given to their faculties may have 
possessed higher gifts and learning, 
and yet proved a curse to their spe- 
cies and to themselves. Had Byron's 
intellect been sanctified by a mother's 
praj^ers and example, what a bless- 
ing to the world he would have been. 
Math his genius, his sensibility, his 
love of the grand and the heroic ! 
But his mother, unfortunately, was 
not qualified for the task of training 
such a mind. Macaulay tells us that 
she passed in her treatment of her 
son from paroxysms of anger to par- 
oxysms of tenderness. At one mo- 
ment she lavished upon him her 
fondest caresses ; at the next, she 
reproached him for his deformity. 
Hence filial reverence was wanting 
in him, and with it were wanting all 
those high and noble qualities it 
brings in its train. In his corre- 
spondence even with his female 
friends, the poet spoke of his mo- 
ther as his Alecto, his Hydra, his 
Fury, his Upas-tree, and so on. He 
wrote to Miss Pigot : " Her (his mo- 
ther's) behavior on any sudden piece 
of favorable intelligence is, if pos- 
sible, more ridiculous than her de- 
testable conduct on the happening 
of the most trifling circumstance of 
an unpleasant nature." Since the 
world began, did a son ever before 
use such language about a mother, 
and heighten the offense by address- 
ing it to a lady friend ? We hope 
that no son will ever again employ 
such cruel words, and that no mo- 
ther will ever again deserve them. 

Oh ! mighty is the influence of wo- 
man ; highest in her position in the 
scale of being ; the most exalted are 
her duties and her responsibilities. 
The Redeemer of mankind owned no 
mortal man as his father, but a wo- 
man was his mother ! To women 


Hints to Parents. 


belonged the honor of ministering to 
him during his \yeary pilgrimage upon 
earth. They were the last at the cross 
and the first at the tomb. To them 
the risen Saviour first appeared. 
Theirs the first training of the infant 
mind. No good enterprise has ever 
succeeded without their aid. None 
has failed without their- defection. 

Being thus distinguished by heav- 
en, and intrusted with the most 
solemn accountabilities of life, how 
circumspectly should they walk, how 
praj'erfully watch over the j'oung 
immortals commited to their care ! 
How carefully should they guard 
against the pollution of their tender 
minds b}^ any species of defilement ! 
They should perpetually bear in mind 
that all good must be implanted in 
the soul, and is of slow growth ; but 
evil springs up naturally and thrives 
apace. With what patience the 
husbandman gathers the seed of 
cotton, corn, wheat, oats, barlej^ 
rye, etc. ! AVith what labor he pre- 
pares the soil and plants it ! But 
the seeds of pestilent grasses and 
noxious weeds need no gathering 
and no sowing. The fowls of the 
air and the winds of heaven scatter 
them everywhere over the earth, 
and the soil is ever ready to re- 
ceive them. As long as their child- 
ren are in the world parents can not 
keep them from all baneful seeds ; but 
they can at least plant and cultivate 
the good seed, so that they may over- 
shadow and dwarf the pernicious. 
But children can be kept from much 
that is dangerous. " I pray not that 
thou shouldst take them out of the 
world, but that thou shouldst keep 
them from the evil," said our Re- 
deemer in his intercessory prayer. 
Evil books and evil companions must 
be guarded against. The great men- 
tal philosopher of England has com- 
pared the mind of a child to a piece 
of white paper, upon which any thing 
may be written legibly. The mind 
of the man is the same piece of pa- 
per, written all over, crossed and in- 
terlined, upon which few new char- 
acters can be traced. How import- 
ant that this fair and beautiful scroll 

should be interscribed with the liv- 
ing letters of truth ! Late in life. 
Dr. Franklin said that if he had 
done any good in the world, it was 
owing to a little book which he had 
read in boyhood, by one of the Ma- 
thers, .and called, if we remember 
rightlj-, " Hints on Usefulness." The 
mother of Washington was accus- 
tomed to read daily to her family 
" The Contemplations, Mental and 
Divine of Sir Matthew Hale." A 
writer has said : " The singularly near 
assimilation of Washington's char- 
acter to the general principles incul- 
cated in this book has very naturally 
led to the conclusion that it furnished 
the model to which he disciplined 
himself." On the other hand, the 
perversion of great natural powers 
by vicious reading is strikingly ex- 
hibited in the case of Robert Houdin. 
He had probably as much mechani- 
cal genius as Watt or Fulton ; but 
having seen in early life a book 
on juggler}^, he spent his days in 
automaton-making and in tricks of 
legerdemain. The talents which God 
gave him to bless mankind were 
spent in exciting the wonderment 
of the mob. A few years ago a 
midshipman in the navy, the son 
of a prominent and most estimable 
citizen of New-York, was hung for 
an attempt at mutiny and murder in 
an United States brig-of-war. His 
mind was said to have been poisoned 
by reading the " Pirate's Own Book." 
In our own personal knowledge, a 
young man of fine promise was made 
a nuisance to society by the same 
pernicious book. A chaplain in the 
armjr, and a most enthusiastic lover 
of nature, was intrusted for a time 
with the education of William and 
Alexander von Humboldt. This man, 
" Oampe, had plainly perceived," saj^s 
their biographer, "that the mode of 
education and instruction till then 
adopted in families and institutions, 
only tended to develop the memorj' 
and not the mind; he opposed from 
the first the mechanical training of 
youth, and endeavored to develop the 
susceptibility of the youthful mind 
b}'' a perception of the world — of for- 


Hints to Parents. 


eign nations, men, and manners." 
The spirit of research and thorough 
investigation, awakened in the minds 
of those young men by their teacher, 
made William Humboldt the profound 
philological historian, and Alexander 
the greatest explorer of the age. And 
here it may be as well to mention, for 
the comfort of those parents who are 
discom'aged at the dullness of their 
children, that Alexander was so dull 
that even his own mother — a wise, 
prudent woman, thought him incap- 
able of receiving an education. His 
sluggish powers did not seem to 
arouse from their lethargy until he 
approached toward manhood. And 
j'et, before his death, that which was 
said of another could have been said 
of him — "He touched the whole circle 
of the sciences, and adorned them 
all." He has embodied a mass 
of learning in his " Cosmos " vfhich 
seems almost beyond the attainment 
of any mortal man. Let no one then 
be disheartened by the backwardness 
of his child, when this miracle of 
knowledge was thought to be stu- 
pid in boyhood. These examples are 
given out of hundreds that might be 
selected of the influence of books 
and conversation upon the suscep- 
tible mind of youth. They show that 
parents can not be too guarded with 
respect to the reading and associa- 
tions of their children. Newspapers, 
reviews, and magazines are more 
generally read than books. It ap- 
pears from the census of 1860 that 
the number of political papers in the 
United States, including quarterlies 
and monthlies, amounted to 3242 ; 
the number of religious newspapers 
and periodicals to 277 ; and the num- 
ber devoted to farming and garden- 
ing to 40. The aggregate circulation 
annually is put down at 927,951,548 
copies, or over 34 copies for every 
individual in the country ! What a 
fearful thing is such a circulation ! 
How tremendous the responsibility 
of the writer in these days ! What 
an engine for weal or for woe is the 
modern press. It was once said: "Let 
me make the ballads of a nation, and 
I care not who makes its laws." But 

it is now, " He who controls the press 
has the destinies of the nation in his 
hands." No one can pick up even 
the most insignificant of the ephe- 
meral productions of the times, 
whether daily newspaper, review, 
or magazine, without seeing some- 
thing worthy to be known and re- 
membered ; and alas ! too often much 
that ought not to be seen by an in- 
genuous and a pure-minded youth. 
How often do we see an obscene ad- 
vertisement flaunting upon the first 
page, because it pays well ! How 
often do we meet with the profane 
jest or the indecent joke ! The light 
literature of the day is more to be 
scrutinized than books ; for the 
simple reason that they, are writ- 
ten to please and instruct for the 
hour, and not to have the sober 
judgment .of postei'ity passed upon 
them. Hence they often pander 
to present tastes and fashions, re- 
gardless of what the decision of truth 
and right may be in the future. Such 
reading matter can not be criticised 
too closely, it can not be examined 
too rigidly. AViser far is the parent 
who allows his infant child to play 
with a case of medicine in which are 
deadly poisons, than he who allows 
son and daughter the selection of 
their own reading. The temptation 
from this source is infinitely more 
dangerous than the temptation from 
wicked companions. They present 
themselves face to face, and " the 
snare of the fowler is laid in the pres- 
ence of the bird." But that comes 
to the child in his loneliness and re- 
tirement, and, like Satan, whispers in 
his ear the guilty suggestion. He 
can look at it, contemplate it, 
and gloat over it without deeming it 
necessary to call upon his virtue 
and his manliness to resist it. Evil 
companions have slain their thou- 
sands, but pernicious reading has 
slain its tens of thousands. The 
latter does not evoke the blush of 
shame, that potent shield against the 
shafts of sin. The wicked under- 
stand the might, yea, the majesty of 
the blush of the ingenuous j'^outh. 
Hence, they ply their arts of ruin 


Hints to Parents. 


upon him' when night has dimmed 
the lustre of his armor. We once 
heard a venerable man, who had 
spent some forty j^ears of life in a 
town, say that he had never known 
a boy "turn out" well who had been 
allowed to run about the streets at 
night. Weak and foolish parents, 
who know and feel the danger of the 
thing, have not nerve enough to deny 
their children this privilege, or make 
them deny themselves. And yet, 
the teaching of self-denial is the 
most important part of home educa- 
tion. Self-denial in its antagonism 
to self indulgence hes at the root of 
all those virtues which made Plu- 
tarch's heroes great and the Roman 
name famous throughout the world. 
Self-denial in its antagonism to self- 
ishness is the one cardinal doctrine 
of Christianity. " Take up thy cross 
and deny thyself," was the burden 
of the preaching of the unselfish 
man of Nazareth. The self-indulg- 
ent man is a soft weakling, unfit for 
any thing great and noble. The 
selfish man can not be trusted as a 
friend or patriot. When his real or 
supposed interests clash M'ith that 
of friend or country, his own will 
have the preference, though the most 
solemn pledges and obligations may 
rest upon him to sacrifice them. 
Stonewall Jackson said to a friend 
that he only remembered of faint- 
ing once in his life. Some one had 
placed a mustard-plaster upon his 
chest for some ailment, and then, to 
divert his mind from the pain, had 
sent him on horseback to a neigh- 
bor's house some two miles off. " I 
reached the house," said he, "and 
then fell fiiinting from the horse." 
Upon being asked why he had not 
removed the plaster when the pain 
became intolerable, he replied: "I 
had alwaj^s tried from my earliest 
recollection to endure pain patiently." 
This heroic self-control was the pre- 
liminary training to his great career. 
It fitted him who had learned to com- 
mand himself to command others by 
his iron will. It fitted him, habit- 
ually a sufferer in body, to endure 
an almost incredible degree of hard- 

ships and fatigue by the mere force 
of his invincible resolution. It was 
an aphorism of Sir Francis Bacon 
that "selfish parents made unselfish 
children, and unselfish parents made 
selfish children." Who has not seen 
illustrations of this ? And the phi- 
losophy of it is plain. The selfish 
parent, for his own personal gratifica- 
tion, makes the child deny himself, 
and the child grows up to be gener- 
ous and self-denying. The unself- 
ish parent gives up his own ease and 
comfort to gratif)'' the child ; and the 
pampered creature grows up with 
lofty notions of his own importance, 
and with a contemptuous disregard 
of the rights and privileges of others. 
The noble generosity of the parent 
makes no impression upon the mind ; 
but the preference given to the child's 
tastes and inclinations soon ceases 
to be looked upon as an act of kind- 
ness, and is thought to be a right. 
"Do you know the cause of that 
young man's ruin ?" inquired a friend 
of the writer on one occasion ; " his 
father always saci'ificed his own en- 
joyment to promote that of his son. 
If there were but few delicacies on 
the table, such as a scant supply of 
early vegetables, the father's portion 
was given to the son. If some ex- 
posure had to be endured on a wet 
or a cold day, the son sat by the 
snug fireside and the father went out 
into the storm. The boy grew up, 
not to feel grateful for the goodness 
of the parent, but to feel that he was 
the more important personage of the 
two, and that he was like a sovereign 
receiving but the natural homage of 
the subject — his own unquestionable 
dues. Hence, the indulgence of his 
appetites was not regarded by him 
as wrong ; it was inculcated almost 
as a duty by his father. See in the 
animal expression of his face the 
natural fruit of such training." 
Many persons wisely insist upon 
implicit obedience in their children, 
without understanding precisely how 
this affects their moral character. It 
is because obedience lays the ax at 
the root of selfishness and self-in- 
dulgence that it is so important an 


Hints to Parents. 


element in domestic education. The 
child who has learned to surrender 
his own will to that of his parent has 
gained an important step toward the 
mastery of self, and consequently the 
first step toward becoming an unself- 
ish and therefore useful member of 
society. When the mother of Wash- 
ington was asked what was the secret 
of her success in training her son, 
she replied that her great lesson was 
" implicit obedience." And we are 
told how, when his young heart was 
set upon the sea and foreign travel, 
and his midshipman's warrant was 
in his pocket, and his trunk on board 
the boat, he gave up his own eager 
wishes, because it so pained his 
mipther to see him leave. But for 
this act of self-denial George Wash- 
ington might have been an oflBcer of 
the British navy, and not the father 
of a mighty nation ; and this country 
might have been a colony of Great 
Britain to this day. The influence 
of early self-discipline upon Wash- 
ington is seen throughout his whole 
life. It made him tolerant of pain, 
patient under fatigue, calm under re- 
verses, and magnanimous in success. 
It made him a patriot, preferring the 
interests of his country to his own, 
seeking its prosperitj'' rather than his 
own aggrandizement. Hence he gave 
it a republican form of government 
rather than adorn his own brows 
with the royal crown. The whole 
world admires the greatness of Wash- 
ington ; but the world does not trace 
up that greatness to its source, the 
self-denial taught him by his mother. 
The laws and ceremonies of the 
Mosaic code always contained collat- 
eral reasons for their observance 
over and beyond those which were 
obvious and apparent. The most un- 
important regulation guarded against 
some evil, pointed some moral, or 
contained the germ of some great 
truth. Thus the kid was forbidden 
to be seethed in the mother's milk, 
and this apparently trivial prohibi- 
tion we find recorded among the 
most solemn and responsible du- 
ties. It was repeated three times, 
once from Sinai itself, trembling at 

the presence of its God and envel- 
oped with clouds and darkness. It 
was uttered, not by an angel, but by 
the awful Jehovah, amidst the terrors 
of that fearful mount. We can not 
therefore regard the prohibition as a 
small and insignificant matter. First 
and least of all, it related to health. 
Phj'sicians tell us that food prepared 
in that way is unhealthy. The whole 
Mosaic dispensation had such special 
reference to health, that Hall, in his 
" Journal of Health," says that there 
are more wise sanitary rules in a 
single chapter of Leviticus than were 
ever passed by any board of health 
in Christendom. But the great thing 
taught by the prohibition was an ab- 
horrence of human sacrifices. The 
Israeli tish mother learned thereby 
that she was not in any way to be 
accessory to the death of her child. 
If this was forbidden after the fiict 
in case of the beast that perisheth, 
how much more before the fact in 
case of a living child with an immor- 
tal soul ? Hence all the tribes of 
Israel learned in the way most im- 
pressive to the uncultivated mind to 
detest the practice, then so prevalent 
among the surrounding nations, of 
sacrificing their children to Moloch 
and other heathen deities — "the giv- 
ing the fruit of the body for the 
sin of the soul." Moreover, as the 
mother's milk typified the mother's 
functions, the perversion of these to 
the injury of the child was forbidden 
by the figure. Thus is clearly set 
forth the crime of exerting the pa- 
rental authority to force a mercenary 
marriage upon the daughter, or an 
ambitious one upon the son. It is 
seething the kid in its mother's milk, 
and consigning it to a life of torture, 
compared with which death in the 
boiling caldron would be a blessing. 
Again, it is not straining the figure 
to apply it, as Walter Scott has done, 
to the infliction of injury through 
taking advantage of the noblest in- 
stincts and purest emotions of our 
nature. So when Amy Robsart was 
ensnared into the fearful fall through 
the trap-door by her love for her 
wayward husband, the Duke of Lei- 


Hints to Parents, 


cester, Tony Forrester said to her 
murderer : " Oh ! if there be judg- 
ment in heaven, thou hast deserved 
it. Thou hast destroyed her hy 
means of her hest affections. It is a 
seething of the Md in the motlier''s 
milh.^'' Thus, too, when the boy is 
entrapped into sin through friend- 
ship for his wicked companion, the 
son through regard for his worldly 
parents, the unsuspecting maiden 
through love for her betrayer, the 
innocent kid is seethed in its moth- 
er's milk. 

We have made the foregoing di- 
gression to show that the punishment 
by stoning to death of the disobe- 
dient son or daughter under the Mo- 
saic economy, involved another rea- 
son than that which appeared on the 
surface. It is not merely that the 
relation between pai'ent and child 
can not be maintained and that the 
happiness of domestic life can not be 
preserved without the most entii'e 
subjection to parental authority; but 
it is also because the disobedient child 
will grow up into the selfish adult, 
who will prove a curse to society; 
and society does well to cast stones 
at the head which will breed nothing 
but mischief and destruction to it. 
The mocking Ishmael always turns 
out to be the man whose hand is 
against every man, while every man's 
hand is against him. If the early 
history of all those incarnate fiends 
who have wrought desolation upon 
the earth could be learned, we doubt 
not that ninety-nine out of every hun- 
dred of them M'ould be found to be 
vicious, selfish, disobedient, and un- 
governed bo3^s. Benedict Arnold, the 
traitor and the monster of cruelty, is 
but a t3'pe of the whole class. The 
Roman boy, who delighted in killing 
flies, became the bloody emperor of 
infamous notoriety. But if the ap- 
peal to the parent to curb selfishness 
in the child, because it is hostile to 
the interests and well-being of socie- 
ty, be unavailing, surely the appeal 
ought to prevail based upon the hap- 
piness of the child himself. The 
selfish are always unhaiJi:)y . They 
seek but their own enjoyment ; but 

they find instead supreme, unmiti- 
gated misery. They wrap themselves 
in a covering of egotism ; but this, 
like the shirt of Nessus, burns and 
stings, and tortures them to death. 
It makes them morbidly sensitive, 
jealous of the devotion of their best 
friends, and suspicious of all the 
world besides ; keenly alive to their 
own rights and privileges, and ever 
suspecting that these have been in- 

The Christian parent who allows 
his child to become a martyr to self- 
ishness is more cruel than the Am- 
monitish mother, who caused her 
offspring " to pass through the fires 
to Moloch," whose brazen arms were 
made to press the quivering victim 
to its seven-times heated breast. A 
few sharp pangs, a few piercing 
shrieks, and the suiferings were over. 
But the spoiled and indulged and 
therefore selfish pet of foolish father 
or mother spends a lingering life of 
torture, and goes down to an unre- 
gretted grave. Imaginary wrongs 
and fancied slights will be perpetual 
subjects of contemplation. Suspi- 
cion of neglect or injustice will pour 
the wormwood and the gall in everj'' 
cup 'of happiness. Far less the 
agony of the poor wretch stretched 
upon the rack, than that of the mind 
harrowed by its own ideal and self- 
inflicted grievances. 

Now the religion of the Bible aims 
to make man happy by divesting 
him of his selfishness. The Mosaic 
economy taught by type, and the 
Christian dispensation by precept, 
that the sacrifiae must go 'before the 
Messing. Nature herself joins in the 
same lesson. The limner must go 
hefore the gatherer of fruit. Re- 
dundant limbs n]ust be cut off, 
superfluous shoots must be plucked 
out. Even the poet whose own ex- 
cesses had never been pruned, could 
sweetly sing : 

" The tainted branches of the tree, 
If lopped with care, a strengtli will give, 
liy which tlie rest shall bloom and live, 
All greenly fresh and wildly free." - , 

D. H. H. 

{To he continued.) 

1866.] Southern Lyrics. 43 


The first three pieces are from the pen of Philo Henderson, who was born 
near Charlotte, Mecklenburgh county, North-Carolina, and who died in early- 
manhood, leaving a large number of unpublished poems of rare value be- 
hind him. 


Oh ! a wonderful stream is the river of Time, 

As it runs through the realm of tears. 
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, 
And a broader sweep and a surge sublime, 

And blends with the ocean of j^ears ! 

How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow. 

And the summers like buds between. 
And the ears in the sheaf — so they come and they go 
On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow. 

As it glides in the shadow and sheen ! 

There's a magical Isle in the river of Time, 

Where the softest of airs are playing ; 
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, 
And a song as sweet as a vesper clime. 

And the Junes with the roses are staying. 

And the name of this Isle is Long Ago, 

And we bury our treasures there ; 
, There are brows of beauty, and bosoms of snow, 
There are heaps of dust — but we loved them so ! 

There are trinkets and tresses of hair. 

There are fragments of song that nobody sings, 

And a part of an infant's prayer ; 
There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings, 
There are broken vows and pieces of rings. 

And the garments she used to wear. 

There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore 

By the mirage is lifted in air ; 
And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar. 
Sweet voices heard in the days gone before. 

When the wind down the river is fair. 

Oh ! remembered for aye be that blessed Isle, 

All the day of life till night ; 
When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, 
And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile, 

May that "greenwood of soul be in sight." 

44 Southern Lyrics. [May, 


Down in a fair romantic vale 
Where willows weep, and to the gale 

Their sighing branches fling, 
A peerless flower unfolds its leaves 
When eve her mystic mantle weaves, 

And twilight waves its vping. 

And never since that golden morn 
When earliest flowers of time were born 

'Neath Eden's cloudless sky, 
Has evening shed its weeping dew 
Or stars looked from their homes of blue 

On one with it could vie. 

For that sweet flower the silver wave 
That weeps beneath the Indian's grave 

And echoes still his song, 
As it sweeps onward to the sea, 
Pours strains of pla'intive melody 

Its winding shores along. 

To it was, at its natal hour, 

By her who reigns in Flora's bower 

Immortal beauty given ; 
And when from off its native shore 
It greets the evening sta^r no more, 
Where Eden's sunny waters pour, 

'Twill fadeless bloom in heaven. 


Through the dark realm of chaos, ere the morning of time, 
The strains of an anthem pealed onward sublime ; 
Swelling up from the harps of angels on high, 
Unechoed they swept down the dim, starless sky. 

The sun, moon, and earth, and stars were not there, 
To catch the grand strains of that heavenly air; 
But on, ever on, through dim chaos and night, 
They bent their grand, solemn, and measureless flight. 

When God, by his word, spoke in being the earth, 
Those strains echoed back, sung in heaven its birth. 
And sun, moon, and stars beneath Jehovah's glance, 
In beautiful order wheeled into the dance. 

And now, where the farthest bright, tremulous star 
On the horizon's verge drives its silvery car. 
The strains of that antliem are reechoed back, 
And that to their music pursues its bright track. 

1866.] Southern Lyrics. ' 45 

The sky-piercing mountain, the shadowy vale, 
The cloud that unfolds its white, vapory sail, 
The flower that blooms by- the cataract's roar. 
And ocean along its desolate shore, 

Adoringly feel and respond to those tones ; 
And the proud heart of man their sweet influence owns, 
When they swell on the wings of the dark tempest's night. 
Or breathe through the calm of the weeping twilight. 

To their music in time the wide universe sweeps 
In its grand stately march through unlimited deeps ; 
From the loveliest to which Chaldeans prayed, 
To the insect that winds his small horn in the shade. 

When the Archangel's trump, with its loud pealing strain, 
Shall wake the long sleepers from mountain and plain, 
The strains of that hymn will swell higher and higher. 
And blend with the roar of time's funeral pyre. 

Then onward sublimely, unanswered once more. 
Through the dim, starless sky they will sleep as of yore, 
And forever bend down their long, measureless flight. 
Through the dim, ray less regions of chaos and night. 


Helen, thy beauty is to me 

Like those Nicean barks of yore, 
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, 

The weary, way-worn wanderer bore 

To his own native shore. 

On desperate seas long wont to roam, 
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, 

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home 
To the glory that was Greece 
And the grandeur that was Rome. 

Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche 
How statue-like I see thee stand ! 

The agate lamp within thy hand. 
Ah ! Psyche, from the regions which 
Are Holy Land ! 


LiGEiA ! Ligeia ! 

My beautiful one. 
Whose harshest idea 

Will to melody run. 

Southern Lyrics. ['^^^y, 

Say, is it thy will 

On the dreezes to toss, 
Or, capriciously still, 

Like the lone albatross, 
Lncunibent on night, 

{As she on the air,) 
To Iceep watch with delight 

On the harmony there ? 


The winter night is dark and chill, 
The winter rains the trenches fill — 
Oh ! art thou on the outposts still, 
My soldier boy ? 

Thy mother's heart is sick with fear, 
The moaning winds sound sad and drear, 
The foeman lurks in ambush near 
My soldier boy ! 

One treacherous shot may lay thee low ; 
My stricken heart, with-such a blow. 
Nor rest nor peace again would know, 
My soldier boy ! 

Thy tender years and soft brown eyes 
111 suited seem to such emprise ; 
But in thy soul the manhood lies, 
My soldier boy ! 

I think by day and dream by night, 
I start at tidings of the tight. 
And learn thee safe with such delight, 
My soldier boy ! 

Cheerful and bright, thou dost essay 
To chase my every fear away, 
And turn the night into the day. 
My soldier boy ! 

In thee I gave what most I love. 
For thy return, thou weary dove, 
I lift my fervent prayer above, 
My soldier boy ! 

Temper the wind to my dear child, 
God ! and curb the winter wild, 
And keep in thy embraces mild 

My soldier boy ! W. D. Porter. 

1806.] Southern Lyrics. 47 


AVandering on the shores of memory, 

Gathering up the fragments cast 
By the surghig waves of feeling 

From the ocean. of the past. 
Here a shell and there a pebble, 

With its edges worn away 
By the rolling of the waters, 

By the dashing of the spray. 

Some lie smooth and many-tinted 

High upon the glistening sand ; 
Others, sharp and freshly scattered. 

Wound when taken in the hand. 
Here a wreck of by-gone treasures 

Garnered in our early years. 
Gathered now in hidden caverns. 

Crusted with the salt of tears. 

Every hope and every sorrow 

That the heart hath ever known — 
Vessels launched in j'^outh's bright hour 

On the shadowy beach are thrown ; 
Here are pleasure-boats that glided 

O'er smooth waters for a while. 
There, rich argosies of feeling, 

Freighted with a tear or smile. 

Joy that vanished ere 'twas tasted, 

Is but sea-weed wet with spray : 
Eagerly we seek to grasp it — 

Lo ! its beauties, fade away. 
Floating in the brilliant future. 

It was dipped in rainbow-dyes, 
But upon the sands of memory 

Now in tangled masses lies. 

Here are wrecks of early friendships, 

Living only in the past. 
Vessels which were far too fragile 

To withstand life's cutting blast. 
By them nobler barks are lying, 

Barks that weathered every gale ; 
Till on death their life-boats shattered — 

These were never known to fail. 

Round about are fragments lying 

Of the cargoes which they bore ; 
And on each these words are graven ; 

"Friend, we've only gone before." 
Oh ! it gives both pain and pleasure 

To reflect that when we die. 
Shattered on the sands of memory. 

Thus in loving hearts we lie. 

Mrs. Mary Bayard Clarke. 

48 Southern Lyrics. [^IfiJ, 


I HEAR it forever ! It sounds in my ear 
Like the sigh of the pine when the wind-cloud is near, 
Or the moan of the ocean that sobs on the shore, 
When waihng the wrath of the storm that is o'er. 

As the ghost of the miser, in slumber unblest. 
Haunts ever the spot where its treasure doth rest ; 
Sad mem'rj returns unto daj'^s that have fled. 
And the "dead past" seeks vainly to "bury its dead." 

No hope hath my soul this refrain shall cease ; 
Time doth not assuage — Death will not release ; 
More sad than the raging of passion or hate 
Is the voice of despair when it whispers " too late .'" 

Too late to amend — too late to atone, 

'Tis grief unavailing that's left me alone; 

For the red stain of sin, though we steep it in tears. 

Like a scar on the soul, through life reappears. 

The head of the mountain, though hoary with snow. 
Cools not the fierce fire that rages below ; 
And if the hot lava has rolled down its side. 
Kind nature seeks vainly the traces to hide. 

Faith ! canst thou whisper no comfort to those 
Whose hearts, like the geysers, boil e'en in repose ? ' 
Untamed by misfortune, unsated with sin, 
Yet longing for peace and comfort within. 

Still passing the road which leads unto death, 
With good resolutions that melt with a breath ; 
Still hoping 'gainst hope that the}^ backward have prest 
The fiery passions that boil in each breast ; 

That belief is triumphant, and banished each doubt— . 
The geyser extinct — the volcano burnt out : 
Till despair lowly M'hispers, " This, this is thy fate, 
To yield to the stream, and lament when too late!" 

Mrs. Maky Bayakd Clarke. 


Thou gentle brook, by thy sweet side. 
With lingering steps, I love to stray, 

And hear the ripple of thy tide 
"Make music on its joyous way. 

Chafed by thy pebbly bed below, 
I see thee now in bubbles foam ; 

And now I mark thy wavelets flow, 
In glassy smoothness gliding home. 

1866.] Southern Lyrics. 

Now thou art lost in yonder dell, 

Where matted foliage hides from sight, 

In darkness there awhile to dwell, 

Then laughing leap once more to light. 

Now thy bright surface takes the beam, 

To throw it back to yonder sun ; 
And now again thou hid'st thy stream, 

And all unseen thy waters run. 

Thus light and shade alternate play 

Upon thy current flowing free ; 
And musing on thy changeful way, 

A moral hast thou taught to me. 

The hrooTc is life ; the pebbly bed, 
The trials that keep pure the stream ; 

The bubbles, airy hopes that fled 
Like visions of a vanished dream. 

The leafy darkness of the dell 

Is sorrow's clouds of faithless fears ; 

The sunny light, the joys that swell 
When heaven has kissed away our tears. 

But, gentle brook, the pebbly bed 

I see is not thy changeless lot. 
Nor bubbling foam, nor darkness dread. 

But many a sweet and sunny spot. 

So trials sore and hopes delayed. 

And sorrow's cloud, are not the whole 

That God on earth for man has made — 
For there is sunlight for the soul. 

Nor light nor shade we changeless see ; 

The stream runs dark, and now 'tis bright. 
In light then let me grateful be; 

In darkness, patient, waiting light. 

Eev. Fkancis L. Hawks, D.D. 


Weaving silently round the soul, 

Crawls the spider of sin ; 
" Who can not break his weak control ?" 

Nothing but threads he can spin. 
Nothing but threads, thin little threads, 

Beautiful sunshiny strings. 
Round our hands, our feet, our heads ; 

" Who fears such bright little things ?" 
See, see ! that silken glistening thread ! 

'Tis red as it swings in the breeze ; 
It waves and it sways till it wraps round my head ; 
" Who cares what a father or mother has said ? 

I say and I'll do what I please." 

VOL. I. — NO. I. 4 

50 Southern Lyrics. [May, 

See, see! anothei*; 'tis green, but 'tis bright; 
* -. It dances and tosses like fun ; 

It floats in tiie sunbeam, it bathes in the light. 
It winds round my hands, and it binds them tight, 
And I do what I would not have done. 

Another ; oh ! that is a bright golden thread ; 

Ah ! 'tis strong and 'tis thick, though 'tis bright; 
It catches my feet and it draws them along. 

And I follow, not willing, a wild noisy throng. 
And they lead me far out in the night. 

My head, my hands, my feet are now bound ; 
What icoulcl I not give to he free I 

I can not unwrap them, my strength can not break, 
And they\e lost all their brightness to me. 
Baltimore, Md. Isabella R. Byrne. 

TO M. N. T. 

A VISION which I had of late, 
By the orchard's lattice-gate. 
Let this simple song relate. 

Vision of a little girl. 

With a cheek of peach and pearl. 

And the promise of a curl ! 

Daintily in white arrayed, 
Borne by Ethiopian maid. 
Blending well with light and shade. 

Dimpled hand on dusky neck, 
Ebony, with silver fleck, 
'Twixt a turban and a check ! 

By the cedar's scented gloom. 

By the violet's perfume. 

By the jasmine's golden bloom. 

By the graceful hawthorn-tree. 
By the stately hickory — 
Pausing for a kiss from me ! 

Melting where the sunlight shines 
On the blossomed nectarines. 
Melting down the orchard lines ; 

Melts, but bids before me rise 
A wiser pair of wider eyes. 
In a wide world of surprise ; 


1866.] Southern Lyrics. 61 

And a world of rapture swells 
In her accent, as she tells 
All the legends of our dells : 

• "Where the wild bee builds her cells, 
Where the humming-birdie dwells, 
"Where the squirrel drops the shells ! 

"V^oice by soul of music stirred, 
Eloquent in tone and word. 
Mocks the very mocking-bird. 

And she knows the ways of fruit, 
All the tricks of bud and shoot, 
All the secrets of the root. 

Much that wiser folks call weeds, 
Her wide horticulture heeds ; 
Boundless her delight in seeds. 

Leave her to her slender hoe ! 
Let the seasons come and go T 
Let the flowers and maiden grow ! 

Another presence ! bright yet pure, 
With mien more modest than demure, 
Not our little maiden, sure ! 

Yes ! by dimpled cheek and chin ! 
Violet eyes and velvet skin, 
'Tis our "^^Summer-child " again. 

'Mid the roses she hath wrought, 

'Mid the lilies, till she caught 

Health and grace in form and thought. 

Greet her, all ye clustered blooms ! 
Apples, peaches, pears, and plums ! 
Greet your sweetest, as she comes ! 

By the cedar's scented breath, 

By the violets underneath, 

By the jasmine's golden wreath. 

Crown her with your fragrant hands. 
All bright things from all bright lands. 
Crown your brightest where she stands. 

By the graceful hawthorn-tree. 
By the stately hickory. 
Pausing for a kiss from me. 
Torch Hill, April 15, 1858. E. 0. T. 


Adele St. Maur. 



.Adele poised her light, graceful fig- 
ure upon a broken pedestal in the 
Campagna, in the attitude of Canova's 
Dancing-Girl Reposing. In her fan- 
tastic play, she thought herself en- 
tirely alone, not a living being in sight 
or hearing, when she suddenly be- 
came aware of the fact that a pair of 
dark eyes, whose brilliancy even the 
twilight did not conceal, were fixed 
upon her. She saw that she was 
mistaken for a statue, and she deter- 
mined to maintain her position until 
the unwelcome intruder should pass 
on. But he folded his arms, and 
leaned against the trunk of a tree, and 
seemed quite at his ease and quite at 
leisure, and the position upon one 
foot was too fatiguing to be long main- 
tained. So with a palpitating heart, 
she calculated the distance she could 
spring on the side farthest from the 
stranger — made the projected bound, 
and ran off as fast as possible. The 
gentleman brought his reclining figure 
bolt upright, stood for a second in ex- 
treme astonishment, and then, like a 
hound on the track of a deer, sprang 
after the fugitive. When she found 
herself pursued, terror lent wings to 
her feet ; but a stalwart young Eng- 
lishman, accustomed to all sorts of 
athletic exercises, is not easily beaten 
in a foot-race, and Adele soon felt a 
strong arm thrown around her, and a 
laughing voice exclaim — "Ho ! my lit- 

' tie signorina ; marble figures are not 
usually so fleet of foot — pray explain." 
But the child turned upon him with 
such a defiant gesture and such flash- 
ing eyes, that he involuntarily relin- 
quished his hold, and retreated a pace 
or two, even before the "How dare 
you, sir ?" issued from the childish 
lips as naturally as from those of an 
insulted woman. Alfred Mowbray had 
a vague sense of having not captured 
an Italian peasant child, but of having 
offered a rudeness to a full-grown 
English lady. For although those 
eyes flashed like an Italian's, they 

. were not Itahan eyes — although the 

little head reared itself like an enraged 
cobra, it was not an Italian head. 
Large blue eyes they were, and the 
complexion was snowy, and the gol- 
den hair rippled over neck and should- 
ers like that of Guide's Magdalene. 
But a second glance somewhat reas- 
sured the young Englishman. The 
little figure before him could not\\dt,YQ 
seen more than twelve summers, so 
doffing his cap with mock humility 
he said, 

"If your august highness, majesty, 
or whatever else your dignity may 
be, does not fancy being chased and 
caught, you should not go playing 
tricks upon unM'ary strangers after 
that fashion." 

The little girl's manner instantly 
changed — her face crimsoned with 
shame, and with tearful eyes and 
pouting lips, she said : 

" I did not know that any one was 
near — I was only playing." 

" No harm done, carissima, you 
looked charmingly — Canova never 
had so pretty a model, I am sure. 
Now you wall pardon me, will you not, 
and tell me your name ?" Adele gave 
a sweeping glance all around, hoping 
to see if her faithful old attendant 
Bernardina had not returned. But 
no Bernardina was to be seen. She 
had told her little charge to remain 
here, thinking it a safe, secluded 
spot, until she should return from the 
errand of charity upon which she had 
gone. Adele, notwithstanding her re- 
cent brave defense of her dignity, was 
still terribly afraid of the stranger, 
and would have told him her name, 
or any thing else he asked her ; but 
she knew her father shunned English- 
men as he would the pestilence, and 
was always particularly afraid that 
some of his countrj^men might learn 
his name and place of residence. Com- 
pletely embarrassed, and at a loss for 
a reply, she stood twisting her fin- 
gers nervously together, and looking 
down upon the ground. 

'■'• My name is Alfred Mowbray" — 


Adele St. Maur. 


the child started—" and your coun- 
tryman, if I am not mistaken in think- 
ing you English." 

" I can not tell you my name — the 
English treated my poor papa so 
badly that he does not wish to know 
any of them. He says he has no 
country and" — her voice faltering — • 
" no kindred." 

A stout middle-aged Italian woman 
now hurried up, and seizing the little 
girl's hand drew her away, talking in 
an eager, remonstrating tone. They 
were soon out of sight, and young 
Mowbray walked slowly back to the 
broken pedestal. On the grass beside 
it, something white glistened in the 
light of the now risen moon. On 
stooping to pick it up, he found it was 
a child's handkerchief — and when he 
came to a street-lamp, he read, daintily 
written upon one corner, " Adele St. 
Maur." "So I have learned your 
name, you little witoh," he muttered 
to himself, " and I think it is probable 
some of my own blood runs in your 
veins ; for St. Maur was the name of 
that renegade, penniless officer who 
ran oflF with my aunt Adele some fif- 
teen years ago, and almost broke my 
grandfather's heart, and quite broke 
my poor aunt Mildred's. I must find 
out these people." 

When Adele told her father that 
evening of her adventure, and that the 
young stranger's name was Alfred 
Mowbray, his dark face grew darker 
than she had ever before seen it. He 
drew her toward him fiercely, and 
said in a tone quivering with emotion : 
" My child, your grandfather's name, 
as I have told you before, was Alfred 
Mowbray ; but I now tell you what I 
never told you before, and that is, that 
but for his cruelty your mother would 
be living to bless the lives of her poor 
husband and child to-day. I have 
always considered you too young to 
listen to her sad history, but now you 
shall hear it. Your grandfather, Sir 
Alfred Mowbray, was induced by his 
father to marry a lady for whom he 
felt no love, and this poor lady died 
a few years after their marriage, leav- 
ing one child — a son. . Sir Alfred then 
married a lady distinguished for her 

beauty and fascinating manners, and 
to her he was devotedly attached ; but 
she also died in a few years, leaving 
twin daughters, your mother, and 
your aunt Milfred, who died recently. 
Your grandfather, while he showed 
his son but little affection, devoted 
his life to his beautiful daughters. I 
need not tell you how I met your 
mother ; but she loved me, and finding 
her father inexorably opposed to our 
marriage, we were married without 
his consent ; she fondly hoping that 
her father, who had never refused a 
wish of hers, except in this matter, 
would forgive her as soon as he knew 
that she was really married. But he 
Was as hard and relentless as a rock. 
For the first year of our marriage, she 
seemed happy, for she fondly believed 
that her father's forgiveness was only 
a question of time, and that he could 
not persist in shutting out from his 
heart and home his darling Adele. 
You were then born, and your poor 
mother used every endeavor to regain 
the lost place in her father's heart, but 
every effort only served the more to 
convince her that it was hopeless. 
She could not bear the trial, and sank 
under it. From the day she was 
married, she never saw either her 
father, sister, or brother. Recently I 
heard of your aunt Mildred's death, 
and your grandfather has now come 
to Rome to ask — listen, my Adele— to 
ask that I shall give him my child ! 
To ask that the child of my broken- 
hearted wife shall be given to him 
whose cruelty killed her ! All his 
pride is gone now, and he condescends 
to make every concession to the once 
despised and penniless officer. But," 
he added, fiercely springing to his 
feet, "he shall never, never gain the 
boon he asks — he shall not even see 
my beautiful darling." Adele looked 
at her father's knotted brow and di- 
lated nostrils with fear — she had never 
seen him under the influence of so 
strong a passion before. But she 
knew not, in her bewildered little 
child's heart, that conscience was 
whispering throughout this gust of 
passion, "You robbed the poor old 
man of his child, and although it was 


Adele St. Ifaur. 


his duty to forgive, is it not also yours 
to make some reparation?" 

After walking the room rapidly for 
a few minutes, Colonel St. Maur sat 
down again, and Adele, drawing close 
to .his side, kissed him timidly and 
said : " Papa, do you not think my 
poor mamma would have wished my 
grandfather to see me?" He winced 
as if in pain, and said slowly, "I — of 
course, my child — your mother would 
have been perfectly happy if this 
proud and cruel grandfather of yours 
would have condescended to look at 
you. But he would not — and now he 
shall not." 

" But, papa dear, it makes you so 
unhappy to be so angry with any one," 
her eyes filling with tears; "if you 
would make friends with my grand- 
father, would you not be happier ? I 
am always miserable when I quarrel 
with any one until we have made 
friends again. And then he loved his 
daughter very much, I suppose — as 
much as you love me, papa, and if I 
should be ungrateful to you"' — she 
stopped, embarrassed at what she was 
going to say ; and her father, looking 
into her eyes fully, said, "I would 
forgive you, my darling — yoii could 
do nothing for which I would not for- 
give you." 

The next morning Adele was dressed 
by Bernardina in traveling costume, 
and when she came down to break- 
fast found her father also equipped 
for a journey and full of business, 
reading papers, etc. After kissing 
him good-morning, she asked in won- 
der : "Where are we going, papa? 
Bernardina said she did not know." 

" We are going to the Crimea, love 
— to live in tents and fight the Rus- 

"Oh! are we really, papa? arejon 
going into service again ?" 

" Yes, darling, and you have not 
more than fifteen minutes for your 
breakfast ; so lose no time — you are 
going to be ' la fiUe du regiment.' " 

"And is Bernardina going too?" said 
Adele with some sinking of the heart. 
She was relieved by a hasty " Yes, 
yes," and the carriage stood at the 
door, AYhen she was seated, she 
slipped her hand in her father's and 

said : " Dear papa, won't you — for my 
mother's sake — say good- by to my 
grandfather before you leave Rome?" 
Again the dark cloud gathered on the 
stern man's face, but after pausing a 
moment, he directed the coachman to 
drive to a hotel in the Piazza di 
Spagna. They were soon at the de- 
signated spot, and Colonel St. Maur 
silently conducted his child up the 
broad marble stairs. 

Adele trembled as the noble-look- 
ing old gentleman into whose presence 
she was ushered took her into his 
arms, and with his tears falling upon 
her face, said in a broken voice : "Col- 
onel St. Maur, I thank you — from my 
soul, I thank you for this unlooked-for 
and undeserved kindness." 

Colonel St. Maur explained to him 
that he was leaving Rome, and was tak- 
ing his child with him to the army. Sir 
Alfred, without ever once taking his 
sad yearning eyes from the face of the 
child, and in a hopeless sort of way, 
remonstrated against it— saying that 
neither the moral nor physical atmos- 
phere of the camp was fit for a child 
of this tender age, and then detailed, 
with trembling eagerness, the advan- 
tages of the pure air of his place in 
Westmoreland — how much better and 
happier it would be for her in an Eng- 
lish home, with a pious governess, etc. 
St. Maur listened unmoved, and with 
folded arms, said quietly : "A soldier's 
daughter must learn to share a sol- 
dier's hardships. But I assure you 
she will be well taken care of — the 

wife of my friend Colonel D will 

take charge of her ; and if any thing 
should befall me, she will be sent to 
England, to your care." Sir Alfred 
raised his tall figure and said: "Pro- 
mise me this, St. Maur, promise that 
you will make such arrangements as 
will place my grandchild in my care 
in case she is placed beyond yours." 
"I promise," replied St. Maur, and the 
two gentlemen clasped hands cordially 
and solemnly ; for upon St. Maur's 
mind was impressed one of those vivid 
flashes of "coming events," casting not 
their shadows, but their lurid lights 
before, that he felt convinced he would 
never return from the expedition upon 
which he was now starting. 


Adele St. Maur. 



Lanstead Abbey was one of those 
exquisite English places, where the 
splendor of the palace is united with 
all the sweet domesticity and individ- 
uality of home. The gray walls sprang 
from the soft emerald turf as if they 
grew from it — now projecting into the 
broad sun-light — now sinking into 
cool shadowy recesses. The morning 
sun poured its glory over the grand 
old pile — bringing out buttress and 
pinnacle, tower and gable, gothic arch 
and traceried window ; and, darting 
also into that east breakfast-room, 
touches the gray locks of the old man 
who sits there with a silvery radiance, 
and the brown curls of the young 
man who sits there with a golden. 
The same old man whom we saw in 
the Piazza di Spagna — the same young 
man who won the foot-race on the 
Campagna. But it is not the sun- 

light which now sends the faint color 
over the fair wrinkled cheek of the 
old man. It must be something in 
the paper which he holds in his hand 
which moves him so — for now he 
clasps his hands in silent prayer, and 
then he speaks to his grandson. 

"Alfred, Colonel St. Maur has been 
killed at Balaklava !" 

' ' Indeed, sir ! Then I suppose you 
wish me to go for his child." 

" Yes, and I will go also. Give or- 
ders that every thing shall be ready " 
for our journey by to-morrow morn- 

"I will, sir." 

And they go forth — the old man 
seeking his lost Dead in the Living — 
the young man seeking the beautiful 
and poetic child who played Canova's 
Dancing-Girl upon the Campagna. 


The steamer plows the waters of 
the Euxine sea with a heavy freight — 
a freight of aching hearts and pain- 
racked bodies. The battle of Bala- 
klava sent many a brave, good man 
to his grave, and the brave and good 
always carry with them the heart- 
strings of father, mother, brother, sis- 
ter, wife, and child. The vessel is 
crowded with wounded soldiers — 
some hoping to reach England ere they 
die — others fondly believing they will 
grow well and strong when they reach 
home. But the heaviest freight are 
the hearts of bereaved ones — those 
who mourn their dead left upon a for- 
eign soil — or those who carry with 
them the sacred remains to place 
them with their kindred dust. 

Our poor little Adele lies with her 
head in Bernardina's lap, her eyelids 
swollen with weeping ; all the roses 
have faded from her cheeks, leaving 
only the snowy whiteness, which 
makes her more resemble a storm- 
drenched snow-drop than any thing 
else. And the plaintive, incessant 
wail, " Papa ! papa ! papa, my poor 

papa!" seems to fill Bernardina with 
despair. She has listened to it for 
day and night, vainly striving to 
soothe and quiet the stricken little 
one. An old Jew with a flowing 
beard is seated near them on deck, 
and looks toward them with deep 
sympathy. At last, without speak- 
ing, he goes below and returns with 
a glass of iced water, and taking 
from his valise a small vial, pours a 
few drops from it into the glass, and 
presenting it to Bernardina, begs her 
to give it to the young lady, saying 
it would act as a sedative, which she 
evidently so much needed. Bernar- 
dina had not observed him uiitil this 
moment, and she now hesitated, but 
catching at any thing that promised 
relief, she took the glass, and placed 
it to the feverish lips of her little 
charge. Adele drank it eagerly, and 
in a few moments sank into a pro- 
found slumber. Bernardina looked 
gratefully toward the old Jew, and 
in a faint voice thanked him for his 

"You look very ill yourself," said 


Adele St. Maw. 


he; "I am afraid you are worn out 
with fatigue and grief." 

"I am afraid," she answered, 
"that I am going to have an attack 
of illness." And then she added, 
clasping her hands, "what will be- 
come of Miss St. Maur ?" 

"Have you no friends with you?" 
he asked. 

"No," she answered, "Colonel 

r> was also killed; and his wife 

who had charge of the child was 
raving with grief, and I thought it 
best to try to reach Rome, where I 
expect to find Miss St. Maur's grand- 
father. But I feel so strangely ill 
that I begin to feel alarmed about 
myself." The leaden hue of her 
face and the pinched appearance 
about her nose, confirmed her words, 
and a strong shiver passed over her 
frame. The Jew procured a cushion, 
and gently lifted Adele's head and 
placed the cushion under it, saying 
to Bernardina: "Now go and lie 
down and I will find the English 
surgeon who is on board and send 
him to you." 

"Thank you, my friend," said she, 
"and if you can find a priest, send 
him also;" and she added, catching 
his arm and looking into his face, 
'■'■toilljou — for you look like one to 
be trusted — loill you watch beside 
Miss St. Maur until I return ?" 

"I will," said the Jew in a tone 
which left no doubt on Bernardina's 
mind. He found the surgeon and 
the priest each at his post of duty, 
among the wounded soldiers, and 
after sending them on the new errand 
of mercy, he returned to the sleep- 
ing child. He kept his watch for 
long hours, and Adele slept on, as 
pale, as motionless, almost, as the 
blood-stained dead who lay so near 
her, in their coffins. Presently a 
solitary figure began to pace the 
deck, and the Jew saw it was the 
English surgeon ; softly approaching 

him, he asked how the sick woman 
was faring. 

"No better; a hopeless case of 
cholera ; she will not live until morn- 
ing," was the reply. "And there 
are two other cases on board, and I 
advise you to get that young lady 
out of this infected atmosphere as 
soon as possible. She is in your 
charge, I presume." 

"No," said the Jew, "she has no 
attendant but the sick woman; but 
I will take care of her until she 
reaches her friends who are in Rome. 
We will arrive at Constantinople by 
day-break, and I will then have both 
conveyed to a safer locality." 

" What is the name of the young 

"She is Miss St. Maur, daughter 
of Colonel Henry St. Maur, who was 
killed in the recent battle." 

" Indeed, and who are you ?" 

"My name," said the Jew haught- 
ily in reply to this abrupt question- 
ing, "is Lionel Benjamin. My son is 

head of the ■ Department in 

the Crimea." 

"Ah!" said the surgeon extend- 
ing his hand, " I am happy to know 
you. Your son has been of the great- 
est service to our army. I am Dr. 
C , of division." 

"Your name is familiar to me," 
said the Jew. "I have been much 
with the soldiers for some months 
past." A young officer on crutches 
now approached, and Dr. C re- 
lated the conversation which had 
just taken place. "Poor St. Maur! 
he was one of my best friends. And 
this sleeping child is his daughter. 
What an exquisite beauty!" And 
with the ever ready appreciation of 
the artist, he drew out his drawing- 
materials and commenced sketching 
the pallid face, and the slight figure 
which lay in its motionless weariness, 
in the light of the overhanging lamp. 


When Adele was told of her new fever set in, and for a time she was 
misfortune, nature gave way ; brain unconscious of every thing. Mr. Ben- 


Adele St. Maur. 


jamin had her conveyed to the house 
of one of his own race, where the 
gentle Jewesses, skilled in medical 
lore, nursed her with all tenderness. 
When the fever subsided and con- 
sciousness returned, Adele was too 
weak for any violent outburst of 
grief. Helpless as an infant, she lay 
watching calmly every object around 
her — the shadow of the trembling 
leaves, which fell through the open 
window upon the counterpane, or 
the shifting rays of light as they 
glanced across the floor. 

Mr. Benjamin remained in Con- 
stantinople until she was able to be 
moved, and then learning from a 
reliable source, that Sir Alfred Mow- 
bray was not in Rom e, he determined 
to take her to his own house in Venice 
until he could write and ascertain her 
grandfather's whereabouts. 

The voyage thither was almost a 
blank to Adele. Her whole heart 
was filled with one dull absorbing 
•pain, and her kind guardian won- 
dered at an excess of sorrow which 
he considered so unnatural in a child. 
His wife and daughter exerted them- 
selves to the utmost to entertain and 
interest their Christian guest, and so 
kind and gentle were they, that Adele 
soon learned to love them, and love 
always exerts a soothing effect. Love 
is happiness, and happiness is health, 
both to the soul and to the body. 
Eva and Sarah Benjamin were fully 
grown girls, and Sarah was a year or 
two older than Adele ; little Joseph 
was a bright little boy of six years 
of age ; and old Leah, a kind mother- 
ly old Jewess who lived with them, 
completed the family. Mrs. Benjamin 
was a beautiful woman, and as ten- 
der toward the little waif cast upon 
her care as a mother could have 

But though Adele learned to love 
them and felt very grateful for their 
kindness, she always felt that be- 
tween her mind and theirs was a 
barrier which could not be passed. 
Their faces were beautiful, but upon 
them all was imprinted a spiritual 
dullness, a vail which seemed to 
place them far off" from her. Their 

dark soft ej^es were loving and intel- 
ligent; but there was something 
there which impressed Adele with 
an idea which she did not like to 
admit to herself — an idea that they 
were like the beautiful eyes of a 
fawn or a spaniel, and that no soul 
looked from those human windows. 
But her own grief was still too recent 
for her to speculate upon these 
things, and she would lie with her 
hand in Sarah's for hours, while 
Sarah read to her English books. 
One morning, she said : 

"Sarah, I have been praying 
every day since my dear papa was 
killed that God would give me some 
evidence, some assurance, that he 
was saved. And this morning, I 
felt so comforted while praying — it 
seemed as if God were listening in 
pity. Won't you bring me my port- 
folio ? It is in the trunk marked No. 2. 
I wish to read all papa's old letters." 

Sarah brought the portfolio. On 
opening it, the first thing Adele saw 
was a sealed letter, addressed to her 
in her father's handwriting. Her 
hands trembled so that she could 
scarcely open it, but when torn open, 
her eager eyes devoured the con- 
tents. Sarah looked at her with 
wonder, as with glittering eyes and 
lips apart apparently breathless, she 
looked from line to line, from page 
to page. She then exclaimed : "My 
God, I thank thee ! Oh ! enable me 
to devote my whole life to thee for 
this great goodness," and the first 
tears she had shed since the fever 
left her forced themselves] through 
her closed eye-lids, and were ab- 
sorbed by the precious paper upon 
which her cheek was,pressed. Sarah 
kissed her fondly, her own tears 
flowing in sympathy, and said : 

" Then you are relieved about your 
dear father?" 

" Yes ; this letter was written the 
day before the battle, and he says he 
puts all his trust in our Lord and 
Saviour Jesus Christ, and with his 
brother officers had that day re- 
ceived the sacrament." And her 
face glowed with rapture which to 
Sarah seemed unearthly. She was 


Adele St. Maur. 


thinking, too, all the time, " Can these 
Christians be so entirely mistaken ?" 
and her mind rapidly ran over what 
she supposed were incontrovertible 
errors. " They worship a woman — 
a Jewish woman ; they worship 
images, which God has expressly 
said were not to be bowed down to ; 
they neglect all the purifications 
which are so necessary to health; 
the priests shave their beards and 
their hair off, which God has ex- 
pressly forbidden, (Ezekiel 44 : 20 ;) 
and they eat all kinds of unclean 
food, which God forbids. They can 
not he right. But I have never seen 
a Jew who attached so much im- 
portance to his religion as this Gen- 
tile girl does to hers ; but my mother 
says God's people never seem to 
believe the truth so firmly as the 
heathen believe in error." 

Adele now began to improve very 
fast ; the heavy weight was removed 
from her mind, and the whole world 
began to seem joyous and happy to 
her again ; not that her father was 
ever out of her mind for an hour, 
but she had the inexpre'ssible relief 
of thinking of his safety and happi- 
ness, and that she would see him 
again. Her young companions were 
delighted to see her spirits begin to 
improve, and she was soon able to 
go out with them in a gondola and 
see the city. Her room was fur- 
nished with oriental magnificence, 
and in the bathing-room adjoining 
a stream of flowing water ran con- 
stantly through a marble basin, and 
poured itself downward through a 
tube into the court-yard below. Old 
Leah, who was a very devout Jewess, 
said to her on6 day : " I suppose, 
little lady, you have always been ac- 
customed to bathing in warm water ; 
but our law commands running 
water, for all manner of personal 
impurity." Adele did not much like 
this old woman ; she had a coarse 
Jewish face, and she shrank from 
her with instinctive repugnance. " I 
suppose running water in the Bible 
only means fresh or pure water, and 
it could be warmed, I should think, 
without lessening its purity," said 

Adele. "Not that I wish warm 
water ; cold water answers very well ; 
but you are more particular than 
most Jews, I think ; those who lived 
in the Ghetto at Rome looked as if 
they never used either warm or cold 

"Alas!" said the old woman 
shaking her head, " some of our 
people are very corrupt. They have 
forsaken the law of their fathers; 
but we still have our Scriptures pure, 
and we knoio our dutj^, if we do it 

"I can not think, though," said 
Adele, "that you understand your 
Scriptures rightly, or you would be 

"Our law forbids us to be Christ- 
ians," said Leah. 

Adele was not an adept in contro- 
versy, but she looked so clearly and 
decidedly incredulous that Leah went 

" Our law forbids us to worship 
images as the Christians do — " 

"You are mistaken," interrupted 
Adele, "in thinking all Christians 
worship images. The Protestant 
Christians condemn it as much as 
you do." 

"Oh I" said Sarah, running into 
the room laughing, "you are not 
trying to argue Nurse Leah into be- 
lieving Christianity ? I think you 
will remove mountains first." 

Adele looked very grave ; it seem- 
ed to her a terrible thing for any one 
to reject the Saviour of mankind. She 
looked from the aged Leah to the 
youthful Sarah — both with such 
strongly marked Jewish faces ; the 
former ugly as the witch of Endor ; 
the latter as beautiful as the Sarah — • 
princess — who tempted Egypt's Pha- 
raoh. Yet in both appeared that 
mystic vail— that cloud which seem- 
ed to envelop their souls and shut 
them out from the Sun of Righteous- 

" Come away from Leah," said 
Sarah, drawing Adele's arm within 
hers, "she is a little cross some- 
times, and I see she has said some- 
thing to make you unhappy." 

" Far be it from me," replied Leah, 


Adele St, Maur. 


"to treat the stranger and orphan 
with aught save kindness." 

Adele left the room with Sarah, 
but she still looked grave and sad. 

"Come," said Sarah coaxingly, 
"do not look so grieved — you seemed 
quite happy this morning — what has 
occurred to distress you?" 

" Sarah ! I can not bear to think 
that you do not believe in Christ. I 
love you so much ; but when I go 
away, I fear I shall never see you 

" Oh ! jJ'es," said Sarah, " papa is 
going to take us to London next 
winter, and we shall probably see 
you there." 

" I did not mean that," said Adele, 
"I mean that we maybe separated 
in eternity. And this life appears to 
us long, but it is really so short in 
comparison to eternity, that — " 

" We will certainly go to heaven," 
said Sarah, ' ' we always keep the 
Law, and we are Karaite Jews — not 

"But the law will not save you," 
said Adele. " I had a governess. Miss 
De Leon, who was a converted, I mean 
a Christian Jewess, and she said the 
Jews 'before the coming of the Mes- 
siah, were not saved by observance 
of the law alone, but by looking 
heyond the law to a divine saving 
power. If they loved God, as they 
were commanded in the first com- 
mandment, this great love would 
make them think their best observ- 
ance of the law deserved no reward ; 
and they trusted to a promised 
Saviour. A really holy man sees no 
merit in himself— he is so accustomed 
to studying the holiness, perfection 
of God, that in comparison he feels 
himself nothing. He is required 
to walk 'humbly with his God.' 
You know that is what your Scrip- 
tures say. Do you think David 
trusted to his observance of the law 
to save him ? You know sacrifices 
and oiferings were commanded in the 
law, yet David said : ' Thou de- 
sirest not sacrifice — thou delight- 
est not in burnt-offering. The sacri- 
fices of God are a broken spirit ; a 

broken and a contrite heart, God ! 
thou wilt not despise.' " 

Sarah listened earnestly and 

"But Miss De Leon said that does 
not mean that we were not to observe 
the law, but we were not to trust to 
any righteousness of our own for sal- 
vation. And a person who had been 
a very wicked man, and repents im- 
mediately before his death and trusts 
in Christ alone, will be saved, while a 
person who has been a strict, outward 
observer of the law all his life, and 
does not trust to the Messiah, can not 
be saved. I say ouUoard observer^ for 
if he has in his heart loved God with 
all his strength, he must necessarily 
be enlightened." 

" But can not we trust to God and 
not to the Christian's Messiah ? My 
mother and my aunt Miriam were 
talking about it yesterday, and they 
said a Jew could not believe in three 
Gods and a Goddess — the Virgin 

Adele was so shocked that she be- 
came pale. " Sarah ! we believe in 
but one God. We Protestants do not 
worship the Virgin Mother ; but my 
dear nurse Bernardina" — here her 
eyes filled with tears — " was a Roman 
Catholic. And she used often to 
take me to her church after Miss 
De Leon went away. But Miss De 
Leon and my papa were Protest- 
ants, and although they consider 
the mother of our Saviour the most 
blessed of women, they do not wor- 
ship her." 

" But you worship God the Father, 
and God the Son, and — " Adele plac- 
ed her hands over her lips. " Do not 
say any more, Sarah." Her ej^es were 
round with a feeling of awe and fear. 
" Do not talk about these holy things. 
I will explain to you what we believe ; 
I once heard a priest explain it to 
Bernardina. He said : ' There is the 
snow upon the mountain side ; the 
sun shines upon it and the snow 
melts into water : the water, upon 
the blowing of a cold wind, freezes 
into ice. There are snow, and water, 
and ice, yet it is the same thing. 


Adele St. Maur. 


God is but one, yet he is God the 
creator, God the redeemer, and God 
the sanctifier.' " 

" I see^" said Sarah slowly, " it is 
quite different from what I thought. 
But still I can not see that the — 
your Saviour — is really the Messiah." 

"I can not explain to you all the 
reasons for our belief, for I am very 
ignorant, but I think if there were 
no other proof than that his disciples, 
who were ready to die for him, gave 
us a history of his life in which no 
man since has been able to find a 
fault, that would be sufficient proof 
Miss De Leon said the way in which 
the sacrifices are spoken of in the 
Old Testament showed clearly that 
the old-time Jews must have been 
convinced that they pointed to some 
great sacrifice made once for all. 
And those of them who were truly 
godly people recognized their Mes- 
siah in the Lord Jesus Christ. But 
those who were proud, their pride 
interposed between them and One 
who made no pretensions to earthly 
grandeur. And those 'who loved 
pleasure more than holiness did not 
find any congeniality with One who 

taught such purity of life. And 
those who were avaricious cared for 
nothing but the loaves and fishes 
which he could multiply at plea- 

" But the Christians of these days 
are not such good people. Mother 
says that Jews do not commit any 
thing like so many crimes as the 

"A Christian commit a crime!" 
exclaimed Adele, whose ideas of 
Christian character were formed by 
the example and precepts of the 
gentle Miss De Leon and her faithful 
old nurse ; " what do you mean ?" 

"All these people in Venice are 
Christians, and they are constantly 
doing the most horrid things." 

"But they are not really Christ- 
ians — those who are wicked only call 
themselves Christians." 

"Very few of them are good, I 
think," said Sarah. 

" That is not the fault of their re- 
ligion. Miss De Leon says the Jews 
always had a perfect law, yet very 
few of them led holy lives. You do 
not know the real Christians, per- 


Adele greatly enjoyed seeing the 
beautiful old buildings of Venice. 
Old Mr. Benjamin and Sarah were 
usually her companions in sight- 
seeing. Every thing was familiar 
to them, but they seemed delighted 
at the interest which Adele mani- 
fested in every thing. " Now, do not 
tell me when we come to St. Mark's 
— I think I shall know it by a 
beautiful description of it, which 
Miss De Leon once read to me. The 
writer said the buildings in front of 
the cathedral looked as if they had 
suddenly been struck back into love- 
ly order and obedience, and stood at 
a distance that we might see it far 
away. And then he describes the 
cathedral as consisting of a multi- 
tude of pillars and white domes 
clustered into a pyramid of colored 
light, which appeared to be a trea- 

sure heap of gold and opal and mo- 
ther of pearl. He said, underneath 
it was hollowed into five great 
porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, 
and beset with sculpture of ala- 
baster, clear as amber and delicate 
as ivory — sculpture of palm leaves 
and lilies, grapes and pomegranates, 
and birds clinging and fluttering 
among the branches, all twined to- 
gether into an endless net-work of 
buds and plumes. And then he 
described the solemn forms of the 
sculptured angels, robed to the feet, 
and leaning to each other across the 
gates, their figures indistinct among 
the gleaming of the golden ground 
through the leaves beside them, in- 
terrupted and dim, like the morning 
light as it faded among the branches 
of Eden, when first its gates were 
angel-guarded long ago. Then he 


Adele Si. Mmir. 


described the mystical signs, all be- 
ginning and ending in the cross ; and 
above in the archivolts, a continuous 
chain of language and life — angels, 
and the signs of heaven, and the 
labors of men, each in its appointed 
season upon the earth ; and above 
these, another range of glittering 
pinnacles, mixed with white arches 
edged with scarlet flowers — a confu- 
sion of delight, amidst which the 
breasts of the Greek horses are seen 
blazing in their golden strength, and 
the St. Mark's lion, lifted on a blue 
field covered with stars, until at last, 
as if in ecstasy, the crests of the 
arches break into 'marble foam and 
toss themselves far into the blue sky 
in flashes and wreaths of sculptured 
spray, as if the breakers on the Lido 
had been frost-bound before they 
fell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid 
them with coral and amethyst." 

Adele paused breathless and laugh- 
ed ; and Sarah said : 

"What a memory you have to 
remember all that ! And I really do 
think it is great nonsense, for I^ was 
never struck with any extraordinary 
beauty of St. Mark's." They had 
stopped for Mr. Benjamin to make 
some little purchase, and Adele rais- 
ed her eyes. Before her was St. 
Mark's. Yes, it was all there ! Even 
to the white doves which she had 
forgotten in the description, but 
which filled the porches, " mingling 
the soft iridescence of their living 
plumes with the marble foliage, 
changing at every motion, v»'^ith the 
tints, hardly less lovely, that have 
stood unchanged for seven hundred 
years." Adele's eyes filled with 
tears, and she thought of Madame 
de Stael's remark: "Architecture 
is frozen music." A grand Te Deum 
was St. Mark's. 

They entered the church. The 
cross — the cross was the grand sym- 
bol to which all this beauty pointed 
— lifted and carved in every place 
and upon every stone. It was not 
the Madonna which was here the 
presiding deity. The third cupola 
over the altar represented the witness 
of the Old Testament to Christ, and 

showed him enthroned in its centre, 
surrounded by the patriarchs and 
prophets. The centre of the church 
was, however, the point upon which 
the poet-artists had spent their la- 
bors most conspicuously, and the 
two ideas which they strove to em- 
body were, " Christ is risen,^'' and 
" Christ shall come.'''' 

But Miss De Leon had taught the 
English girl that image-worship was 
sinful, and she turned away, wonder- 
ing in her own mind if any one 
ever in this world became capable 
of entirely separating truth from 

When they reached home Adele 
found Leah in her room, placing a 
bouquet of freshly-cut exotics vipon 
her toilette-table. " Thank you, 
Leah — you are very kind — you must 
forgive me for what I said about the 
Jews in Rome. I do really love the 
Jews ; our Saviour was a Jew, and 
our Saviour's motherwas a Jewess." 

" Yes, the prophet, Jesus of Naza- 
reth, was a Jew, not only in lineage 
but in religion : he was a holy man. 
If Christians kept the law as he did, 
they would be truly holy." 

Adele prayed silently for guidance 
as to what she would say, and then 
replied : 

" 'The law was given by Moses, 
but grace and truth came by Jesus 
Christ.' 'For what the law could 
not do, in that it was weak through 
the flesh, God, sending his own son 
in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for 
sin, condemned sin in the flesh.' " 

" I have read your New Testament. 
I read it to please a dear young lady 
who was very kind to me once ; but I 
was more firmly convinced than ever 
that Jesus of Nazareth never intend- 
ed to abolish our holy law. He 
commands even the tithing of garden 
herbs not to be left undone, and he 
says : ' Heaven and earth shall pass 
away, before one jot or tittle of the 
law shall fail.'" 

"Miss De Leon thought that the 
law was not abolished, and that 
breaking the smallest command was 
wrong ; but it was a yoke too heavy 
to be borne without sustaining grace. 


Adele St. Maur. 


that is, that a person who is con- 
stantly watching his own actions to 
see whether they are in accordance 
with the rule, is miserable. He must 
look away from himself to Christ. 
But' the law is still holy, just, and 

" And can we be Christians and 
conform to all our law ?" asked Leah 
in surprise. 

"Certainly," said Adele. "There 
was a great company of Jewish Chris- 
tians in the time of the Apostles, who 
observed the Jewish law. St. James 
the apostle said there were thou- 
sands, and they were all ' zealous of 
the law.' " 

Leah looked at the bright young 
face before her, in its clear, innocent, 

earnest beauty, and she thought of 
Samuel in the temple. 

" Leah !" said Adele, catching 
the withered hand of the old wo- 
man — "I am ignorant — I can not in- 
struct you, but there is one certain 
way of finding out the truth. Pray 
to God to enlighten you : he will cer- 
tainly give wisdom to aU who ask it 
sincerely. Promise me, won't you ?" 

" I will pray that the God of Abra- 
ham, Isaac, and Jacob will show me 
whether Jesus of ^i^Tazareth be the 

Adele's heart gave a bound of joy, 
for this solemnly spoken promise was 
to her an earnest that Leah's face was 
turned to the light, and she felt that 
she would find the truth. 


When Sir Alfred Mowbray reached 
the Crimea and could learn nothing 
of his grand-daughter, the shock to 
him was very great. Colonel St. 
Maur's fellow-offlcers all declared 
that they thought the young lady 
had been sent to England ; that im- 
mediately after the battle, there was 
so much confusion they did not re- 
member seeing the child. That she 
had taken boat was certain, for Captain 

F had forwarded her luggage on 

a steamer bound for Constantinople. 
Doctor C had returned to Eng- 
land, or he could have told whose Sa- 
maritan care had enfolded the deso- 
late little stranger — watched over her 
in illness, and surrounded her with 
all the sweet comforts of home. 

Under the bitter disappointment. 
Sir Alfred's mind reeled, and he 
would talk about his daughter "Adele 
— poor lamb — she had made a very 
unfortunate marriage — but he had 
forgiven her — and he was searching 
for her," and it was piteous to see the 
trembling anxiety with which he 
looked at every lady who passed him, 
hoping to find his lost daughter, Al- 
fred Mowbray was distressed at not 
finding the child, but far more dis- 
tressed at the change the shock had 

wrought in his grandfather, and 
would constantly tell him that it was 
only a temporary thing. They would 
certainly hear some news of the miss- 
ing one — probably find her in Eng- 
land when they reached home. But 
Sir Alfred would not hear of return- 
ing to England. " I must find my 
child," he would say, "I will travel 
the world over to find her. Do not 
talk to me, Alfred — you never loved 
your sister," and so he would wander 
on. The mail from England brought 
Mr. Benjamin's letter. fAlfi'ed rushed 
to his grandfather with the glad news. 
The old man wept and cried like a 
child, but seemed quieter after the 
first paroxysm was over than he had 
been for many weeks. 

They reached Venice, and Alfred, 
leaving his grandfather in the care 
of a servant, went in search of his 
cousin. Sarah and Adele had just 
seated themselves in a gondola to go 
out when Alfred came up. Mr. Ben- 
jamin was with them ; the silvery 
beard of the old man and his bright 
sparkUng eyes formed a sort of back- 
ground to the twin rose-buds — the ■ 
two girls. Sarah with her dark eyes, 
brilliant complexion and faultless fea- 
tures, and Adele, with her profusion 


Adele St. Maur. 


of golden hair and lily-like fairness — 
what a contrast ! — the diamond and 
the pearl. 

Adele recognized immediately her 
pursuer on the Campagna, and she 
blushed and did not seem very glad 
to see him. But he was her rightful 
guardian, and good old Mr. Benjamin 
delivered her up, exacting the pro- 
mise that she would return that 
evening and stay with them until 
her grandfather left Venice. Adele 
sat quietly beside her cousin, feeling 
very sad ; it brought her father's 
death back to her so vividly that, af- 
ter a vain effort at self-control, she 
burst into tears. Alfred had all the 
virtues and faults of an Englishman, 
and although he would have given 
any thing to be able to comfort his 
little cousin, he was as much at a 
loss for words as though they did not 
understand each other's language. 
So it was a great relief to both when 
the gondola reached its destination. 
Adele was surprised at the change in 
her grandfather — so old, so feeble he 
had grown. His manner towards 
her was a blending of the stately 
grace of the old-time gentleman with 
the most touching parental devotion. 

His mind had become more collected, 
and he would repeat every now and 
then, as if reminding himself, " This 
is my grandchild — the • daughter of 
my poor Adele, who married Colonel 
St. Maur." Adele saw that he need- 
ed the most tender care, and she be- 
gan to talk to him in a quiet, matter- 
of-fact way, which had the happiest 
effect upon him, and he never wear- 
ied listening to her. "I am sure I 
am greatly indebted to old Mr. Ben- 
jamin for his kindness, my love. You 
must invite them all to Lanstead Ab- 
bey. Now tell me about your poor 
nurse again — she died so suddenly 
of cholera." 

"Yes, grandpapa," but here her 
voice failed, and she buried her face 
in her handkerchief He laid his 
hand caressingly on her head. "Poor 
child — poor child — just like her mo- 
ther !" he muttered. 

" I never could understand," she 
resumed in a low tone, "how it was 
I slept fourteen hours, when my dear 
Bernardina was so ill ; she must 
have been very ill before I went to 
sleep ; but I was so unhappy about 
papa that I did not notice it." 


By the time Adele reached Eng- 
land, she and her cousin Alfred were 
fast friends. Sir Alfred seemed to 
have a new lease on life ; he became 
strong and almost young again. 
Adele was his constant companion. 
Beautiful England ! with what de- 
light the young girl greeted the land 
she had thought of and dreamed of 
as home. She nestled into all her 
belongings at Lanstead Abbey as if 
she had lived there a hundred years ; 
and she little knew what a radiance 
her own presence shed over the old 
place. She soon learned to know 
the cottage people on the estate. Her 
grandfather resumed his active hab- 
its of superintending his estate, and 
Adele soon became very wise in agri- 
culture and stock-raising. She went 
with him over the cultivated fields 

and throiigh pastures upon which the 
immense flocks of cattle grazed. She 
soon learned, to her grandfather's 
great delight, to distinguish a Devon 
from a Durham ; and an Alderney 
from an Ayrshire. 

In fact, her love for the open air 
was so great, that there was no part 
of the farm economy that she did not 
become familiar with — enriching 
land, draining meadows or upland, 
making plantations of young trees — 
any thing which enabled her to 
live in the sunshine and among the 
green trees. And she grew apace. 
Never was a child more indulged — 
both her grandfather and cousin Al- 
fi-ed seemed to have no greater plea- 
sure than to carry out her wishes In 
every trifle. 

All the neighboring ladies, who 


Adele St. Maur. 


managed their daughters according 
to the most approved rules, exclaim- 
ed when they saw Sir Alfred build a 
new conservatory, with a dome, al- 
most like a mosque, to please the 
oriental taste of little miss. " Costly 
toy !" said Lady Talbot, who lived at 
a beautiful place adjoining Lanstead. 
Adele had been so caressed and pet- 
ted all her life, that she always had a 
sort of feeling of queenship, without 
being really spoiled. She was neither 
selfish nor self-willed. But she had 
none of that mauvaise honte so com- 
mon to English girls. She was as 
unconscious of self as a kitten, and 
had a clear, straightforward way of 
looking at people which, child as she 
was, they sometimes found rather 
embarrassing. Sir Alfred felt con- 
strained, at last, to yield to the re- 
monstrances of his lady friends, and 
begin to look about for a governess 
for her. Many were recommended ; 
but his choice was at last fixed upon 
a Mrs. Cecil, a widow lady of good 
family, and whose friends ^ould have 
gladly supported her, but she pre- 
ferred being independent. She was 
about forty, had a fine mind, highly 
cultivated, and great vivacity of man- 
ner. Adele found her a charming 
companion, and became greatly inter- 

ested in her studies. "When she was 
taught by Miss De Leon, she learned 
her lessons as a dull task, which must 
be accomplished to avoid distressing 
her kind and gentle friend. But Mrs. 
Cecil had a way of infusing a life and 
interest into her lessons which made 
study a real pleasure. She was a 
large, masculine woman, not hand- 
some, but yet with such a bright, 
honest face, such a dignified, graceful 
manner, and strong good sense regu- 
lating every action, that she. had a 
charm greater than beauty. Sir Al- 
fred esteemed her most highly, and 
Alfred pronounced her a real " brick." 
Sir Alfred seemed happy, and so he 
was generally, but he sometimes had 
his heart wrung with agony and re- 
morse when any casual circumstance 
reminded him of his lost Adele and 
Mildred. " I broke my Adele's heart, 
and that broke Mildred's," and he 
would lock his door and throw him- 
self upon his knees and pray for for- 
give'ness and mercy. No one knew 
of these paroxysms except his old 
servant Carter, and he never spoke 
of them. The only trace they left 
was a new softness and tenderness 
of manner to all around him. " God- 
ly sorrow worketh righteousness," 
{To he continued.) 

1866.] The Coming of Christ. 65 


" And the Loi-d himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, 
and with the trump of God : and the dead in Christ shall rise first : then we which are alive and 
remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air. " — 1 Thess. 
4 : 16, 17. 

Life's strong and fevered and resistless pulse 

Beats on as erst in ages past, 

And men, grown confident as gods, in scoffing wisdom ask, 

"Where is the promise of his coming ?" 

Others, ne'er thinking of the future, give 

All time and thought and wishes to the present — 

Ignoring God and prophecy and conscience ! 

The recording angel, with expanded wing, 

Hovers above the busy earth, and notes with care 

God's chosen ones. Here, a little child. 

Taught by a sainted mother, lisps, " Thy kingdom come," 

And knows and wishes what he asks. 

Here, a holy man, vexed with the wrong and wickedness 

And folly of his fellows, echoes still, "Thy kingdom come." 

And again, a bereaved one, whose treasures all are stored in heaven. 

Implores with broken heart, " Thy kingdom come." 

And multitudes of Bible-taught, renewed minds 

With waiting expectation stand. 

The setting sun falls on the beauteous world, lighting up 

The gorgeous city and the verdant plain. 

Anon the holy stars and silvery moon assert their sway, 

Unnoticed by the busy city's throng, who hasten 

To their various haunts— some to festive halls. 

In revelry to while their hours ; some to watch beside the dead ; 

Some to loved home-cii-cles hie, to rest with joy 

After the day's dull care. Here, in earnest conclave, 

Statesmen sit ; and there, with reckless folly, does the 

Gambler stake his fortune on a throw. 

In other climes are varied scenes ; but all 

Plave for their central figui'e Man — Man, with his joys. 

His sorrows, hopes, and fears : all busily pursue their ends 

This day as other clays. On the battle-field the glittering hosts 

Confront each other, with deadly purpose in their hearts. 

The general's stern command goes forth, 

Echoed from rank to rank, and swift obedience moves 

The well-trained thousands ; when suddenly 

A strange, mysterious expectation falls upon the minds 

Of men, arresting every motion save 

The eager upturned eye, which sweeps the blue horizon. 

Where midnight reigns, the sleepers suddenly awake. 

And look and listen. All is still, all dark, not even 

A sound of breeze upon the still night air. 

All human eyes look up, not knowing why, in instant fear 

Of some unknown but awful crisis. 

Nor is the expectation vain ; for now a trump, 

VOL. I. — KG. I. 5 

66 The Coming of (Jhrist. [May, 

As though the heavens were changed to one vast sound, 

Fills air and sky and shakes the earth, 

And thrillingly reverberates from pole to pole ! 

To the saint, ecstatic harmony — to the sinner, harrowing peal ; 

For well does all the human race conceive 

The meaning of that thrilling, awful blast ! 

And now a light, before which pales the noon-day sun, 

Yet mild and gentle to the Christian's eye as twilight haze, 

Is seen in heaven afar; and nearer, nearer coming, resolves itself 

Into a heavenly host innumerable. The glorious army comes — 

Of saints, apostles, martyrs, prophets, angels, and archangels ; 

And in their midst enthroned, the risen Lord appears 1 

Nor eye hath seen, nor mind of man could possiblj'- conceive, 

The beauty, glory, love, omnipotence which beam 

From his once tear-stained face. 

Oh ! what a fearful cr}'' now rises from the doomed earth ! 

All nations mourn, and call upon the solid mountains and the rocks 

To hide them from the face of Him who sitteth on the throne, 

And from the dreadful wrath of the slain Lamb. 

The saints on earth, with trembling, yet with eager jo3% 

Stretch out their arms and cry, " My Saviour and my God I" 

And those who are fettered least with sin begin. 

By agency unseen, to rise and upward float. 

Others, like Peter on the waves, in agony cry out, " Lord save us or we 

perish !" 
" Oh ! bid us come to tlree." And love in mercy answers, " Come !" 
And the}', too, join the heavenly host, which, moving 
Swiftly round the earth, while still the clear, resounding blast 
Of the last trump is heard, gather out the elect ! 
Then these redeemed, from every nation, kindred, people, tongue. 
Cast themselves at Jesus' feet to hear his thrilling 
" Come, 3'e blessed of my Father !" 
Safe ! safe ! v.'ith Christ at last, like children nestling in a mother's arms. 

Now one vast flame bursts o'er the sin-cursed earth, 

Consuming ever}' thing impure. The first baptism was by water ; 

The last by fire. Anon, regenerated, purified, and cleansed. 

She, like a new-born planet, springs upon her path 

And sings for joy. And glittering clouds about her gathering 

Pour t'neir copious streams upon the soft, new, frngrant mould. 

And balmy zephyrs play among the hills and vales, M^here verdure springs 

Eternal! — for henceforth all is holy. 

The saints shall now inherit this fair orb, and their risen Lord 

Shall o'er them reign ; and all the kingdoms of the cnrth become 

The kingdoms of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ ! 

Oh ! who can tell the intense, unutterable joy 

With which those parted long by death 

Now rush into each other's arms ! 

The mother and her long-mourned children meet — 

Husband and wife — father and son — sister and sister — 

Oh ! what joy to meet again ! 

No more sorrow ! no more sin ! no more sickness ! 

No MOKE Death ! 


Tlie Eaversach 



"VVe have selected the above title 
for the caption of our army notes, 
because, like the Confederate article 
of the same name, though it may 
be occasionally crammed with good 
things by a successful raid, we fear 
that too often it will contain only the 
thin cake and the lean beef, or the 
homeopathic slice of bacon. And 
as the soldier's haversack, like Gene- 
ral Harrison's door, was always open, 
or ready to open, to welcome any 
guest inside^ so our editorial haver- 
sack has an open mouth to receive 
the rich contributions of our army 

We believe that for real, racy hu- 
mor, the Southern soldier has never 
been surpassed. His cheerfulness 
and equanimity under hardship, trial, 
and suffering were beyond all praise. 
The amusing jest and the keen re- 
partee could be heard on the hot, 
dusty march, amidst the pelting rain 
and the snow-storm, the roar of ar- 
tillery and the rattling of musketry ; 
nor hunger, nor fatigue, nor ex- 
posure, nor danger could repress 
fun in the bivouac, the road, or the 
battle-field. The "Western troops 
were more rollicking and boisterous 
in their sport, and not so apprecia- 
tive of quiet humor, as those from 
the four States which composed a 
portion of the old thirteen. But all 
were distinguished for calmness and 
self-possession when fortune seemed 
to be unpropitious, and for a disposi- 
tion to enjoy themselves whatever 
fate might betide them. We believe 
that they will bear up grandly under 
calamity now, as they have always 
done before, and that they will cheer- 
fully accommodate themselves to the 
new order of things, and be the most 
law-loving and law-abiding men to be 
found anywhere in this broad land. 
The men who stuck to their colors 
to the last, are the noblest and the 
best the sun ever shone upon, and 
can be trusted to carry out honestly 
and honorably any obligations they 

may have taken upon themselves. 
Those who had too much principle 
to desert a cause because they saw 
that it was a failing one, have too 
much honor to violate a compact. 
They have seen enough of war to 
desire peace for its own sake, and 
they love their country too well not 
to seek to promote its happiness and 
prosperity. We can not rise to the 
height of doing justice to these pure 
patriots, but we hope to illustrate 
through these pages some of their 
remarkable characteristics. 

vSydney Smith, the great English 
humorist, had a poor opinion of puns. 
"They ai-e," says he, "in very bad 
repute, and so they ought to be. 
The wit of language is so miserably 
inferior to the wit of ideas, that it is 
very deservedly driven out of good 
company. Sometimes, indeed, a pun 
makes its appearance which seems 
for a moment to redeem its species ; 
but we must not be deceived by 
them ; it is a radically bad race. 
By unremitting persecution, it has 
been at last got under and driven 
into cloisters — from whence it must 
never again be suffered to emerge 
into the light of the world." On 
another occasion he said, " The puns- 
ter ought to be executed without 
benefit of clergy." But, notwith- 
standing the dictum of this high 
authority, we have often enjoyed 
the puns of our soldiers, and think 
that our readers will relish them 
too. At any rate, we will try the 
experiment, and if not acceptable, we 
will exchange the wit of ideas, as 
fovmd in the ranks, for the wit of 

When Johnston's army lay around 
Smithfleld, N. C, no flour could be 
obtained, and meal only in such 
small quantities that two corn-dodg- 
ers per man constituted the bread 

rations. Colonel R , who had 

gained such an enviable reputation 
as the commander of the sharp-shoot- 


The Haversack. 


ers of Sharp's brigade, was a rigid 
disciplinarian, and determined to stop 
the practice, so common among the 
rebel soldiers, of yelling at citizens 
who passed by, especially if within 
the conscript age, and suspected of 
keeping out of the army for the same 
reason as Percy's fop — a mortal an- 
tipathy to "vile guns" and "villain- 
ous saltpetre." 

One day a nice dapper young man, 
elegantly mounted and handsomely 
dressed, with a bell -crowned hat, 
rode by the fun-loving regiment, and 
was immediately greeted with the 
old cry, " Get out of that hat ; we 
know you are thar ; see your toes 
working under it," etc., etc. Colonel 
R immediately dashed up, cry- 
ing, "Stop that hallooing ; it is coarse 
and ill-mannered ; no well-bred gen- 
tleman would be guilty of it!" "I 
don't know, Colonel," I'eplied a Mis- 
sissippi boy, with a merry twinkle 
in his eye, "how you expect men to 
be well-bread on two corn-dodgers a 
day." The Colonel had' no further 
remarks to makeupon that interest- 
ing occasion. 

The following pun, by an Irish- 
man, we can not ti'ace up, but as 
Colonel (now Governor) Humphries 
had a goodly number of the Irish 
persuasion in his regiment, we rather 
think that it was perpetrated by a 
broth of a boy of the old Twenty- 
first Mississippi, one of the very best 
bodies of men that ever drew trig- 
ger. If mistaken, we trust that His 
Excellency will excuse us for the 
sake of the merited tribute to the 
regiment he loved so well. 

Throughout the war our bakeries 
did but little toward supplying that 
indispensable article, hard tack, to 
the soldier ; and his ration of flour was 
wetted, rolled on a stick, and thus 
cooked ; or it was made into what 
housekeepers call sTiort-caJce, the army 
cake, however, having neither butter 
nor lard in it. On one occasion, 
when flour was very scarce, the Col- 
onel passed by a group of Irishmen 
cooking their breakfast, and accost- 
ing one of them asked him what kind 
of bread he was making? '■'■ Short- 

caTce, yer honor," replied Pat, hold- 
ing up an infinitesimal portion, "any 
body with half an eye even can see 
that, and this is me day's ration, and 
the bloody commissary is riding 
about upon his fine horse, not think- 
ing of the poor soldier at all, at all ; 
long life to yer honor if you'll only 
let me give him a bit of a bating." 

That accomplished scholar, gentle- 
man, and soldier, the lamented Gen- 
eral Garland, of Virginia, related to 
the writer a conversation which he 
overheard between an Irish prisoner, 
taken at the second Manassas, and a 
friend of his in the " ould countrj^," 
but then serving in the Southern ar- 
my. The rich counties around the 
field of battle had been desolated by 
General Pope's order. Not a chick- 
en could be heard to crow or a pig 
to squeal for miles and miles. The 
seven or eight thousand United States 
prisoners were, therefore, of neces- 
sity badly fed, as shown by the fol- 
lowing-dialogue : 

Yankee Pat: "Dinnis, my boy, 
have ye ribils no pity upon a poor 
fellow ? I've had nothing to ate to- 
day, and the sun most gone down. 
Faith, and you'll have a big score of 
sins to confess to the praist for such 

Rebel Dennis: "And is it for 
having nothing to ate to-day you're 
after grumbling, Pat ? In the South- 
ern Confederacy we have one male a 
wake and three fights a day. And 
how are we to fade so many uv ye, 
when your Gineral has disolated the 
land ? No, no, Pat, we'll not confess 
to the praist, we'll confess to the 
Po^ic Mmself.'''' 

Captain Joe G furnishes us 

with an illustration of North-Carolina 
gallantry. Soon after the battle of 
Gaines's Mill, he saw a captain of ar- 
tillery brought through Petersburgh 
as a prisoner, and overheard a con- 
versation between him and a friend, 
also a prisoner : 

Feiend : " Why, Captain, you here 
too ! how were you taken ?" 

Captain : " Well, you see we were 
all lying down at our guns resting, 


The Haversack. 


when a North-Carolina regiment ap- 
peared in our front. I did not think 
that they were fools enough to try to 
capture the battery ; but presently a 
little tallow-greased Colonel stepped 
in front, and sung out through his 
nose, (imitating him,) ' Fix bayonets ! 
charge bayonets !' and that was the 
way I was taken." 

We opine that the indomitable 
Colonel would rather not have his 
name appear, as the hit at his per- 
sonal pulchritude may be thought to 
more than counterbalance the com- 
pliment to his gallantry. We would, 
however, suggest for his comfort the 
thought that his gallant antagonist 
was not in the best condition cool- 
ly to take in and appreciate all his 
comely parts and graces of person. 

This incident suggests another, 
which we will give as a tribute to the 
memory of one who breathed his last 
at the head of his regiment on the fa- 
tal field of Gettysburgh. At Malvern 
Hill a certain division drove the gun- 
ners away from a series of guns, but 
was too weak to hold its ground. 
The division commander, believing 
that a single additional regiment 
would enable him to hold the guns, 
rode to where he saw a body of men 
not under his command lying down 
awaiting orders, and briefly explain- 
ed to them the state of things, and 
called for volunteers. A young man, 
with a chin as smooth as a girl's, 
stepped out and said : " I am here 
with a portion of the Twenty-sixth 
North-Carolina Regiment ; we all 
volunteer ; ice are ready to go any- 
icliere and to perform any duty.'''' 
That young man was Colonel Henry 
K. Burgwyn, and we feel confident 
that he expressed not merely the 
sentiment of his own heroic regi- 
ment, but of all the regiments then 
in service from his State. Colonel 
K was at that time a Lieutenant- 
Colonel, and his extreme youth was 
thought to be an objection to his pro- 
motion when a vacancy occurred. 
But upon this incident being men- 
tioned to Mr. Davis, the promotion 
was made. 

A South-Carolina officer furnishes 
a tribute to a North-Carolina soldier, 
which we must give in our own 
words, as his paper has unfortunately 
been misplaced. 

At the first battle of Fredericks- 
burgh, Ransom's North-Carolina bri- 
gade was ordered to reenforce Cobb 
at the celebrated stone icall, which 
Burnside, like Fremont and Shields, 
tried to capture, and with the same 
success. As soon as the brigade ap- 
peared, more than a division of the 
enemy opened a terrific fire upon it, 
and the batteries on the other side 
rained their shot and shell with the 
most deadly precision. The men 
were pushed with all rapidity to the 
precipice back of the wall, and then, 
without a moment's hesitation, they 
sprang down it to find shelter behind 
the wall. But a dignified mountain- 
eer of the Twenty-fifth North-Caro- 
lina regiment (Rutledge's) refused 
to run at all, and walked forward with 
the most leisurely indifference. His 
hat blew off. He went back and 
picked it up. His knapsack, proba- 
bly hit by a ball, fell off; he stooped 
down, readjusted it, and went on. He 
was now the solitary target for more 
than a thousand rifles ; but this did 
not quicken his pace. When he 
reached the precipice,- he determined 
not to risk the leap, preferring to 
slide down gently. He did slide 
down, but it was as a dead man he 
reached the bottom. He was buried 
that night, and there was not an inch 
of his body which was not pierced 
by a ball. 

During the war, we heard General 
Robert Ransom speak in the most 
enthusiastic terms of an act of chival- 
rous gallantry on the part of a South- 
Carolina officer. As South-Carolina 
has gracefully complimented North- 
Carolina, it will be appropriate to re- 
ciprocate the courtesy. To prevent 
reenforcements from reaching the 
stone wall, which Burnside had se- 
lected as the point of attack, the hill 
above it was swept by thousands of 
rifles and numerous batteries of ar- 


Tlie HaversacTc. 


tillery. Kershaw's South-Carolina 
brigade was ordered to reenforce the 
troops at the wall, and had to cross 
over this terrific hill. An oflScer 
went forward to select the safest 
route for them. He rode to the sum- 
mit and took a deliberate survey. 
The firing of the enemy ceased. lie 
I'aiscd his cap in acknowledgment, 
and rode off without having a shot 
fired at him. That oflScer was Gen- 
eral J. B. Kershaw himself. Was 
the cessation of the fire accidental, 
or was it a compliment of the brave 
to the brave ? Who can tell ? But in 
that conspicuous position he could 
not have remained alive a single in- 
stant had the firing continued. There 
are still those living who will re- 
member two similar instances during 
the Mexican war. A Mexican colonel 
of cavalry and a brevet brigadier 
ordered his regiment to charge the 
Second infantrj^ the afternoon before 
the battle of Conti'eras. The regi- 
ment followed but a little way, and 
then halted. He looked round, and, 
seeing their cowardice, dashed on 
alone with sword in hand upon the 
very bayonets of the Second infan- 
trj''. One or two shots were fired, 
and the poor fellow fell, but the in- 
dignant cry of " Shame ! shame !" ran 
along the ranlcs in rebuke of those 
who had fired. Again, when a pri- 
vate Mexican soldier had crawled up 
a ditch to within half a stone's throw 
of Riley's brigade, and then stood up 
in full view, not a gun was discharged. 
On the contrarj^, cheers and laughter 
greeted the brave man, and he walked 
off at a leisurely pace on the top of 
the bank of the ditch which had con- 
cealed his approach. 

Oh ! that the real hard fighters of 
both sides, excluding raiders, marau- 
ders and house-burners, were allowed 
to settle this " vexed question." The 
truly brave are always as generous 
as the cowardly are malignant and 
revengeful. General Sherman can 
not be charged with the sin of loving 
the Southern people, and yai he has 
left this decided tcstimonj^, which we 
commend " to all whom it uray con- 
cern" : 

"To push an army whose com- 
mander had so frankl}' and honestly 
confessed his inability to cope with 
me, were cowardly, and unworthy 

the brave men I commanded 

We should not drive a people into 
anarchy, and it is simjtly impossi- 
ile for our military jjowcr to reach 
all the masses of this ■unha2rpy coun- 

Connected with the battle of Fred- 
ericksburgh is an anecdote, which 
shows the difference between true, un- 
pretending courage and the spurious 
article ■SA'ith its pompous assumptions. 
A general officer riding alone two 
days after the retreat of Burnside, 
stopped to warm at a fire where a 
group of Cobb's brigade, which had 
defended the stone wall, was lying- 
down in all the listlessness of the 
abandon after a fight. The officer 
had on a common soldier's overcoat, 
and was welcomed as a cavalryman 
to the 'fireside. A country lad, a 
farmer boy at home, gave him a 
graphic description of the fierce as- 
sault and terrible repulse, in his own 
simple st3'le, ending his narrative 
with his ingenuous comments upon 
fighting in general. " I have hearn 
men say that ihej were spilin for a 
fight, but I never did spile for a fight. 
Stranger, I've been in every fight 
with my regiment, but I never did 
likes figliting. But when we was 
killing them Yankees so purty be- 
hind that are wall, and they wasn't 
hutting us, I was rale sorry to see 
'em run. And I tell you, Mr. Stu- 
art's man, that was the only time I 
ever did likes fighting." Mr. Stu- 
art's man thanked him for his narra- 
tive, mounted and rode on, reflecting 
upon certain furious war-speeches he 
had heard from men whose warlike 
exploits in the field had not yet be- 
come the theme of poetry and of 

In the second day's fight at Ben- 
tonvillc, Hoke's division was thrown 
back to meet a change of front b}'' 
Sherman. A coast battery of little 
experience in the field was posted in 


The HaversacTc. 


an open field on the right, and svip- 
ported by Walthall's division. The 
retirement of Hoke was soon dis- 
covered by the enemy, who came upon 
Kirkland while half of his men were 
engaged in constructing log breast- 
works. The battery on his right could 
have afforded him instant relief hj an 
enfilade fire. But as soon as the as- 
sault began it opened a furious fire to 
the right, where no enemy was visible. 
A general officer sent first one of his 
staff and then another to change the 
direction of its fire, and at length had 
to go in person before the object was 
effected. The attack ceased almost 
immediately and of necessity'', be- 
cause the shot could rake the attack- 
ing columns from end to end. Later 
in the day the attack was renewed 
farther to our left, and the battery be- 
gun to play farther to the right. The 
officer rode over, had the guns turn- 
ed, and with the same result. He 
then expressed himself in the strong- 
est terms of rebuke to the officers of 
the battery. One of Walthall's free 
and easy boys was listening to the 
scolding with the most intense satis- 
faction, and then broke in with the 
comment : " I think. General, them 
artillery fellows are cross-eyed." 
The name toolc^ and it was the "cross- 
eyed battery" till the day of the sur- 

General Jubal A. Early was not 
only witty himself, but the cause of 
wit in others. The rebel ranks used 
to be full of stories about him, three 
of which only can we give, and these 
not the best, but the most authentic. 
He was, it is well known, opposed 
originally to the secession movement, 
and fought it with all his might. But 
he took his stand with his State, and 
with all the determination of his iron 
will, seems resolved to be a Union 
man no more. We regret his deci- 
sion, but wish that the choicest bless- 
ings of heaven may follow the lonely 
exile. Jackson's wing of the army 
was left about Winchester after the 
battle of Sharpsburgh to remove the 
sick and wounded and army supplies, 
while Longstreet's wing was thrown 

in fi'ont of McClellan to Culpeper 
Court-House. When the object was 
effected, Jackson began one of his 
rapid marches to rejoin Longstreet 
before McClellan would attack him 
alone. Now General Early had the 
famous Louisiana brigade in his di- 
vision, and a good many other troops 
who would not have voted for the 
Maine liquor law. The Massanutten 
mountains were full of old peach and 
honey, and the men thought it would 
be a pity, almost a sin, to leave so 
much spoil to the enemy. Besides, 
they needed, or they thought they 
needed something to support their 
strength on the forced march. Gen- 
eral Jackson happened to ride in rear 
of this division that day, and he found 
the men scattered for miles along the 
road in every possible attitude, from 
dancing the polka to sprawling on 
the ground ; in every possible mood, 
from "grave to gay, from lively to 
severe;" some fighting over their bat- 
tles again, others of a more sentimen- 
tal turn weeping about the wives and 
children far away. General Jubal 
had expended his eloquence and his 
emphatic Saxon in vain. He had 
even spread the report that the moun- 
tain huts were full of small-pox, but 
this had only stimulated the curiosity 
of his prying followers. Conquered 
at last, he had gone to camp and was 
toasting his shins that frosty night 
by a bright fire, when an orderly 
rode up with a note. "Dispatch 
from General Jackson, General." He 
rose from his seat and fumbled for 
his spectacles. But let the corre- 
spondence tell its own tale : 

Headquarters Left Wing. 

General : General Jackson desires to 
ImoTV why he saw so many of your strag- 
glers in rear of your division to-day ? 
(Signed) A. S. Pendleton, 

A.A. G. 
To Major-Gen. Early. 

Headquarters Early's Division. 

Captain : In answer to your note I 
would state that I think it probable that 
the reason why General Jackson saio so 
many of my stragglers ou the march to- 


The Haversack. 


day 13 that he rode in rear of my divi- 
sion. Respectfully, J. A. Early, 
Capt. A. S. Pendleton, 

A. A. G. 

The word saw was duly under- 
scored with the General's boldest 
dash. Contrary to general expecta- 
tion, General Jackson only smiled 
and made no further inquiries about 
the curious investigators, whom 
small-pox could not terrify. The 
General's forbearance may have been 
due to the great kindness he felt to- 
ward and confidence he always ex- 
pressed in his gallant and indomitable 
subordinate. May the skies be bright 
over the head of the exile ! 

Before the battle of Fredericks- 
burgh, Early's division and that of a 
friend were posted at Port Koyal and 
vicinity. At sunset the day before, 
the troops were from fifteen to twenty- 
five miles from the city, but by march- 
ing that night they were up in time 
for the fight next morning. The Gen- 
eral's friend had received as a pres- 
ent a flask of old whisky, which he 
had resolved to give to the General, 
as that kind of liquor did not agree 
with himself. He informed the Gen- 
eral of his intention, but the hurried 
night-march and the battle prevented 
him from fulfilling his promise. The 
night after the fight he took out the 
flask, saw that the contents were all 
right and that the cork was tight and 
firm ; then placing it under his head, 
he lay down on the bare ground and 
slept as the tired soldier only can 
sleep. The dawn found him on his 
feet and examining his flask. The 
cork was in place just as on the 
night before, but the inside was as 
dry as the sand in the desert of 
Sahara. The two oflScers met some 
hours after, when the following con- 
versation took place : 

General E. : "Well, Burnside is 
gone, and I am thirsty." 

Friend: "General, I am sorry to 

tell you that I- put your flask under 

my head last night, and on looking at 

it this morning the cork was all right, 

, but the whisky was all gone." 

General E. (in his most sawlike 

tones:) "Jerusalem! were you drink- 
ing all night ?' ' 

Friend : "Ah ! General, we are so 
apt to judge others by ourselves." 

The ordnance department at Rich- 
mond used to furnish, sometimes^ shot 
and shell constructed on the boome- 
rang principle, admirably adapted to 
injure our own troops and to shoot 
round corners, but very harmless to 
masses of the enemy in front. "We 
have always supposed that this was 
o-^ving to the Union sentiments of 
many of the employees. But how- 
ever that may be, every artillery offi- 
cer can testify to the boomerang qual- 
ities of the projectiles furnished. 

Now it happened on a certain occa- 
sion that the General had received a 
lot of new projectiles, and determined 
to test them. A. battery was drawn 
out and a group of officers of superi- 
or rank to himself, Generals Lee, 
Longstreet, etc., posted themselves at 
right angles to it to observe the firing. 
The first shot turned over gracefully 
on its side and went hissing and sput- 
tering close to the mounted men of 
rank. Not liking so broad a compli- 
ment, they modestly retired a few 
paces. The second shot, more obse- 
quious in its attentions, gave a closer 
salutation. The captain of the bat- 
tery now thought it high time to in- 

Captain : "I think. General, that 
I had better discontinue the firing. 
The shells are utterly worthless." 

General E. (eyeing the group of 
officers :) " It looks like there might 
1)6 promotion in them ! You may 
continue the firing. Captain." 

At the beginning of the war, a mid- 
dle-aged officer went to church with 
a young captain formerly a pupil of 
his. The preacher began by saying 
that political sermons were unknown 
at the South, he himself had never 
preached any thing but " Christ and" 
him ci'ucified." The extraordinary 
occasion which had given him an au- 
dience of soldiers required him to 
change somewhat his plan, and he 
would therefore preach to his military 
friends upon the duty of patriotism, 


The UaversacTc. 


etc., etc. The address was eloquent 
and powerful, and the youthful cap- 
tain wept freely. In the waj'' return- 
ing, he said to his old friend, " I 
am ashamed of myself for crying, I 
could not help it ; but one thing I do 
know, I Icnoio that I can fight now. 
That sermon has made my duty plain.' ' 
That 3''oung officer went through all of 
the grades up to major-general. In all 
of them, the bravest of the brave look- 
ed upon his heroism with wonder. At 
one time riding boldly out to the skir- 
mish-line, at another making daring 
reconnoissances ; at Chancellorsville, 
drilling his troops under fire as on a pa- 
rade; at the Wilderness, checking and 
holding back with vastly inferior forces 
Hancock's corps flushed with victory ; 
everywhere he was conspicuous for 
daring, and showed a skill and judg- 
ment beyond his j^ears. Did the ser- 
mon sustain him through all the fiery 
ordeals through which he passed ? 
We know not, but we know that no 
one ever doubted the high and chiv- 
alrous qualities of General S. D. Ram- 
seur of North-Carolina, who died the 
death of the soldier in the blood- 
stained valley of Virginia. 

Every fact connected with the his- 
tory of Stonewall Jackson is so eagerly 
sought after, not merely on this con- 
tinent, but in the old world, that in- 
cidents trivial in themselves are ac- 
ceptable when illustrative of his great 
character ; and even the intrusion of 
the writer's own name is tolerated, 
provided that it is necessary and un- 
avoidable. With this understanding 
of public sentiment, sketches will be 
given from time to time of the hero 
of the M'ar, over the signature of " Y.," 
by one M'ho knew him well ; and that 
these may be more graphic and fami- 
liar, our correspondent proposes to 
drop the formalism of the we of the 
writer for the more simple and natu- 
ral / of the narrator actually present 
before us. 

In the winter of 1846-7, the greater 
part of the regular troops of the U. S. 
army were taken from General Tay- 
lor, marched to the mouth of the Rio 
Grande, and shipped to Vera Cruz, 

the new base of operations selected by 
General Scott. While waiting there 
for shipping, I strolled over to the tent 
of Captain George Taj'lor, of the ar- 
tillery, and as we were conversing, a 
young officer w^as seen approaching. 
" Do 3^ou know Lieutenant Jackson ?" 
asked Captain Taylor; "he will make 
his mark in this war. I taught him at 
West-Point ; became there badly pre- 
pared, but was rising all the time, 
and if the course had been four years 
longer, he would have been graduated 
at the head of his class. He never 
gave up any thing, and never passed 
over any thing without understanding 
it." Lieutenant Jackson was rather 
reserved and reticent for a time, but 
soon proposed a walk on the beach, 
during which he became quite social. 
One remark he made js still most dis- 
tinctly remembered. "I really envy 
you men who have been in action; 
we, who have just arrived, look upon 
you as quite veterans. Iicoidd like 
to ie in one tattUy What a wish 
was this from one who was after- 
ward in scores of battles, and every 
one a victory ! His face lighted up 
and his eye sparkled as he spoke, and 
the shy, hesitating manner gave way 
to the frank enthusiasm of the soldier. 
Some years after the Mexican war, a 
vacancy occurred in the chair of Nat- 
ural and Experimental Philosophy in 
the Virginia Military Institute. It 
was offered to professor (afterward 
Lieutenant-General) A. P. Stewart, 
who declined. Colonel F. H. Smith, 
the superintendent, applied to the 
writer for the name of a suitable army 
officer to fill the chair. Captain Tay- 
lor's eulogy upon Lieutenant Jackson 
at once recurred to the mind, and he 
was recommended. There was a meet- 
ing of the Board of Visitors held in 
Richmond, and Mr. Carlisle of West- 
Virginia, a relative of Lieutenant Jack- 
son, was present and cordially indors- 
ed the recommendation given him. He 
was elected without any other testi- 
monial than thatgiven on the banks of 
the Rio Grande. Lieutenant Jackson 
resigned from the army and accepted 
the position tendered him. And thus 
a chance conversation on the utmost 


The Uaversaeh. 


verge of Texas was the means of sev- 
ering his connection with the U. S. 
Government, of transferring him to 
the valley of Virginia, and of identifj^- 
ing him with those stubborn fightei'S 
of Scotch-Irish descent who first gave 
him reputation at Bull Run ; and in 
turn had the lustre of his great fame 
shed over them, and are known, and 
ever will be known in history, as the 
immortal heroes of the Stonewall 
Brigade. Had this conversation not 
taken place, how different might have 
been his career and his fate 1 

I saw but little more of him till after 
the fall of Chapultepec on the 13th 
September, 1848. LieutenantBarnard 
E. Bee (who fell as General Bee at Ma- 
nassas in ISGl) and myself, wuth about 
forty soldiers, pursued the retreating 
Mexicans down the causeway leading 
to the Garita San Cosme. We had 
followed them half a mile or more, 
when Lieutenant Jackson came up 
with two pieces of artillerj^ The 
rest of the battery to which he be- 
longed (iMagruder's) had been dis- 
abled. Captain J. B. Magruder (aftcr- 
vrard Major-General) himself gal- 
loped up before we had proceeded 
much further, and expressed the fear 
that he would lose his guns with the 
slender support they had. Bee was 
urgent to push on, and we both prom- 
ised to stand by his guns to the last. 
Captain M. then turned to his Lieuten- 
ant and asked : "What do you say, 
Jackson ?" The answer was brief and 
to the point: ^'■Letus goon.'''' Captain 
M. smiled and moved forward. We 
soon saw an immense bod^^ of cavalry 
coming toward us, apparently with 
the design of charging the guns ; but 
a few rapid and well-directed dis- 
charges drove them off. It afterward 
appeared that this body was com- 
manded by Ampudia, and his official 
report naively stated that the head of 
the column being struck by round 
shot, the men refused to advance. 
We went no further until Worth came 
up with troops. 

Lieutenant Jackson afterward, in 
speaking of the crippling of his bat- 
tery by the fire from the castle of 
Chapultepec, said that there was no 

shelter from its plunging effects, and 
that it was so deadly as to demoral- 
ize the men and cause them to run 
away from one piece, and that he 
could only get them to return by 
walking back and forward before the 
abandoned gun, to show them that a 
man might be there and yet live. 
" While walking thus," said he, 
" with long strides, a cannon-ball 
passed between my legs." 

The expression above qvioted, "Let 
us go on," was the key to his mar- 
velous success. " I would not have 
succeeded against Banks," said he 
to the writer, "had I not pressed 
him from the moment I struck his 
outposts at Front Royal. Soon 
after crossing the north fork of the 
Shenandoah, I found my cavalry 
halted, and a formidable body of the 
enemy drawn up to receive them. 
I knew that delay would be fatal. 
I ordered a charge. They hesitated," 
here-he paused, and at length added, 
" but they did charge and routed the 
enemjr." (He himself led the charge, 
and hence his pause.) " I pressed 
them rapidljr all night. They fre- 
quently halted and fought us for a 
time, but the darkness vras too great 
to permit much execution on either 
side. But for the panic created by 
this rapid pursuit, I would have been 
beaten at Winchester. Banks is an 
able man, and his troops fought well 
under the circumstances. His re- 
treat was skillfully conducted. Had 
my cavalry done their duty, he 
would have been destroyed ; but 
they fell to plundering, and did not 
carry out my orders." And here 
he spoke freely of cavalry leaders. 
"Ashby never had his equal on a 
charge ; but he never had his men 
in hand, and some of his most bril- 
liant exploits were performed by 
himself and a handful of followers. 
He was too kind-hearted to be a 
disciplinarian. Jeb Stuart is my 
ideal of a cavalry leader, prompt, 
vigilant, and fearless." His fondness 
for Stuart was very great, and it 
was cordially reciprocated. Their 
meeting after a temporary absence 
was aflfectionatc and brotherl}'- in the 


The Haversach. 

extreme. No welcome was ever 
more joyous and hearty, than that 
given by the General to Stuart after 
his raid around McClellan's rear, a 
few weeks subsequent to the battle 
of Sharpsburgh. They both laughed 
heartily over a picture Stuart had 
picked up in Pennsylvania, headed, 
" Where is Stonewall Jackson ?" 
McClellan, with the battles round 
Richmond fresh in his memory, was 
represented pointing to his right, 
and saying, " He is there ;" Hal- 
leck was pointing to the left ; Pope 
straight to the front, while Stonewall, 
as a rough, ragged rebel soldier, had 
a bayonet within two inches of the 
rear of the illustrious General whose 
headquarters were in the saddle. 
"Well, Stuart, have you found your 
hat?" inquired the General. This 
was an allusion to the narrow escape 
from capture of the great cavalry 
leader, with the loss of that import- 
ant article of head gear. Stuart 
laughingly replied : " No, not yet." 
The General laid aside his old valley 
suit, and appeared at the battle of 
Fredericksburgh in a magnificent uni- 
form presented to him by Stuart. 
" Ah ! General," said one of his 
impudent rebel boys, as he rode 
along the line, "you need not try to 
hide yourself in those clothes, we all 
know you too well for that." The 
love of the rank and file for him at 
that time was almost idolatrous, and 
it steadily increased till the close of 
his wonderful career. A more grand- 
ly impressive sight was never wit- 
nessed than that of the greeting of 
his men, on that bright morning at 
Fredericksburgh, as he passed in his 
gay clothing on his fiery war steed. 
These hardy veterans, all of them 
ragged and many shoeless, sprang 
to their feet from their recumbent 
position and waved most enthusias- 
tically their dingy hats or soiled 
caps ; but refrained from their wont- 
ed cheers lest they should draw the 
fire of the enemy's artillery upon 
their beloved chief. The utmost 
love, admiration, and devotion 
beamed in their faces, and their 
eyes uttered a welcome which need- 

ed no language to interpret. A few 
moments more and many of those 
bright faces were pallid in death, 
and many of those sparkling eyes 
were closed foreve?. Peace be to 
their ashes ! They had followed 
him without questioning on his long, 
weary, and mysterious marches ; and 
at his bidding they now laid down 
their lives on what they conceived to 
be the field of duty and of honor. 

It is well known that the noisy 
demonstrations, which the troops 
always made when the General ap- 
peared, were painfully embarrassing 
to him. This was usually attributed 
to his innate modesty ; but that was 
not the sole cause. It had its origin 
in a higher source. In the last in- 
terview with him, he said: "The 
manner in which the press, the 
army, and the people seem to lean 
upon certain individuals fills me 
with alarm. They are forgetting 
God, in the instruments he has 
chosen. 'Tis positively frightful." 
Did this fear foreshadow his own 
sad fate at the hands of the men 
who almost adored him ? " These' 
newspapers make me ashamed," said 
that great soldier who holds the 
place second to Jackson in the hearts 
of the Southern people. What a 
lesson is here to flatterers ! The 
one illustrious hero is frightened by, 
and the other is ashamed of the 
incense of their adulation. The 
Christian character of the form^er is 
shocked, and the delicate sensibility 
of the latter is wounded by that 
which baser minds prize so highly. 

But the admiration for Jackson 
was by no means confined to his 
own section. The Federal prisoners 
always expressed a great desire to 
see him, and sometimes loudly 
cheered him. This was particu- 
larly the case at Harper's Ferry, 
Mdiere the whole line of eleven 
thousand prisoners greeted him 
with lusty shouts. Citizens say 
that the hostile troops always spoke 
of him in terms of unqualified 
praise. A gentleman in the valley 
of Virginia relates that when Fre- 
mont and Shields thought that they 


The Ra'oersaek. 


had entrapped him beyond the pos- 
sibility of escape, Sigel's Dutch 
soldiers passed his house singing 
" Shackson in ^a shug," (jug,) 
" Shackson in a shug ;" and when 
they returned crest-fallen from Port 
Republic, they answered his inquiry 
as to what they had done with Jack- 
son, " Py tam, the shtopper come 
out of the shug, he gone, by tam ; 
if the rebels don't make him de 
President, Sigel's men make him." 
While he was making his stealthy 
march around Pope's rear, still as 
the breeze, but eventually dreadful 
as the storm, a Philadelphia paper 
remarked : " The prayerful partisan 
has not been heard from for a week, 
which bodes no good." It sent Pope 
to fight Indians in the far, far West, 
away from the pleasant haunts about 
Washington. " Where is Jackson ?" 
I asked an Irish prisoner, who was 
astonished beyond measure to find 
a rebel grasp upon his shoulder. 
With the apt readiness of his peo- 
ple, he replied, " Faith, and that's 
just the throuble all the time, sure." 
Per contra, another countryman of 
the Emerald Isle, taken in McClel- 
lan's retreat from Richmond, who 
had been curiously examining the 
commissary stores, expressed the 
utmost contempt for Jackson, as he 
reeled along : " Ye're laughing now, 
boys, ye'll be after crying prisently ; 
little Mac is as good a fighter as yer 
Stonemon Jockson, and be domned til 

Connected with his famous retreat 
up the valley, an incident was re- 
ceived from the lips of Mr. II of 

Strasburgh, which will be given as 
near as recollected in his own words : 
"Jackson's troops were scattered 
down the valley at different points, 
some at Winchester, some at Har- 
per's Ferry, etc., the most distant 
fifty-two miles from here, when 
Shields reached Front Royal, twelve 
miles to the east. Fremont, v/ith a 
much larger force, had passed War- 
den sville, some thirty miles to the 
west. Jackson's forces and trains 
had all of necessity to pass through 
Strasburgh, where his antagonist ex- 

pected to intercept him. Then com- 
menced that famous retreat in which 
one brigade marched fifty-two miles 
in thirty-six hours. Shields could 
easily have cut them off", but al- 
though he had a large army, he did 
not deem it prudent to advance till he 
heard from Fremont. General Jack- 
son staid one night at my house ; be- 
fore breakfast the next morning, it 
was reported that Fremont had passed 
through the defile in the mountain, 
and could reach this place that day. 
The General seemed much disturbed, 
and retired to his room. I went in 
several times to invite him to break- 
fast, and always found him on his 
knees. After the lapse of two hours, 
he came out with a radiant and smil- 
ing countenance, was animated, and 
even playful at breakfast, and then 
rode out to Cotton Hill. Here he 
succeeded in checking Fremont's ad- 
vance until his immense booty, his 
prisoners, hi& wagons, his ambu- 
lances, and his troops, except the 
stragglers, had all passed safely the 
dangerous point. A few of the 
stragglers were captured, but most 
of them took to the mountains, and 
as bushwhackers became the terror 
of the Federal a,rmy for many 
months. Fremont made my house 
his headquarters that night. He ex- 
pressed a great desire to see Jack- 
son ; said that he longed for that 
honor, but feared Jackson would 
decline an interview. On his return 
from Port Republic, Fremont again 
stopped at my house. I asked him 
jocosely whether he had seen Jack- 
son. He did not relish the joke, but 
got quite fretted at it." 

The only error that may be in my 
recollection of this statement of Mr. 

H is in regard to the length of 

time the General was engaged in pray- 
er. I think, however, that I have rath- 
er under-estimated it. Under the cir- 
cumstances, this seems an extraordi- 
narily long prayer ; but Jackson was 
an extraordinary individual, and es- 
sentially a man of prayer. In a pri- 
vate conversation years before this 
famous retreat, he said that he al- 
ways spent an hour on his knees at 


The Black Ham. 


his devotions twice a daj^. While 
an officer at the Virginia Military In- 
stitute, and living in the barracks, 
lest he should be disturbed by the 
cadets in his religious exercises, he 
was accustomed to rise, like his Di- 
vine Master, a great while before 
day, and remain for hours alone 
with his God, while all around him 
were buried in sleep. On one occa- 
sion he remarked that he had been 
surprised to find that his devotions 
that morning had occupied two 

hours. " When I have great free- 
dom in my morning prayer," said 
he, " every thing goes well with me 
during the day, and it is always a 
day of peace and happiness ; but if 
my prayer does not gush freely from 
the heart, and is cold, formal, and 
constrained, I expect nothing but 
trouble and annoyance." The length 
of this article requires the postpone- 
ment of a fuller consideration of his 
religious character for the present. 


^sop, or some other writer of fa- 
bles, relates the following : In the 
Island of Crete there dwelt formerly 
a feeble but plucky little fellow, who 
owned a black ram, which he had 
reared with his family, and which 
was the pet of his children. It 
played with them, hauled them in a 
little wagon, and in a thousand ways 
showed its fondness for them. But 
three of the neighbors of the little 
man had long looked with an evil eye 
at his comfort and enjoyment, and 
came to him saying, We wish to sac- 
rifice to our God, and have come for 
your black ram, which was born for 
nobler things than merely to contrib- 
ute to your happiness. But the own- 
er said : I and my children love the 
black ram, and are not willing to see 
him slain ; besides, your God is not 
our God ; why, then, should w^e make 
an oblation for you ? Iioill not give vj^ 
my Made ram. And then he made 
so fierce an assault upon his three 
robust neighbors, that he intimidated 
them, and they sent a great way off 
and got four great hulking fellows to 
help them. And they put these bul- 
lies in the fore-front, and they fell 
upon their weak neighbor, knocked 
him down and trampled him under 

foot. Those neighbors of the little 
man, who loved him and worshiped 
the same God, condemned his hot 
temper and rash impetuosity, and 
thought that a good pounding would 
make him a better citizen. So they 
stood quietly by while the four bul- 
lies were beating and the three 
neighbors were pushing them on 
from behind. 

Now when the three neighbors saw 
that the little man could resist no 
longer, they took the places of the 
four bullies, and beat away till they 
were wearied. Then they made a 
great feast and sacrificed the black 
ram to their God. 

. The orators of Crete celebrated 
the heroism of the three neighbors, 
the poets sang of their generosity in 
giving the black ram, which belonged 
to their neighbor, as a whole burnt- 
offering to their God, and the priests 
laid their hands upon the heads of 
these men and blessed them for their 
piety. But no man extolled the 
pluck of the poor little fellow lying 
bleeding in the dust. 

Moral. — Never fight about a black 
ram, when the odds against you are 
seven to one. D. H. H. 

The Ornamental Floioering Trees^ Shruos, and 



There is something exquisitely- 
beautiful in a group of floicering 
trees. Such a mass of bloom ; such 
a wild prodigality of beauty ! I have 
stood looking at a round-topped and 
gigantic pear tree in full bloom with 
as much pleasure as a lover of land- 
scapes would look at a fine cataract. 
In fact, the pleasure is somewhat 
akin to that we experience in look- 
ing at a dashing waterfall. The 
snowy, wreathy., blossomy wilder- 
ness, with the bees humming over 
it, in delightful insect industry. I 
believe it is the Persians who have 
an annual "festival of the peach 

One of our most beautiful bloom- 
ing trees is the 

Fringe-Tree, {Chionanthns Vir- 
ginica.) Had it grown in Italy, 
France, or Spain, poets and artists 
would have celelarated its praises 
until its fame would have been 
world-wide. Its snowy fringe, like 
flowers, covers the tree with a soft 
and delicate beauty, like a bridal 
vail. It is a small tree, not more 
than fifteen or twenty feet high. 

Red -Bud, (Cercis Canadensis.) 
The fringe-tree is a pure white ; but 
the red-bud is a rich red, of the color 
so popular with fashionable ladies a 
few seasons ago, known as Magenta, 
(Cruel belles, to name their ribbons 
and silks after the ghastly stains of 
the battle-field !) The red-bud is a 
very striking object in the forests in 
the spring, and when transplanted 
into the lawn and pleasure-ground, 
greatly improves in beauty, develop- 
ing into a fine graceful tree, and 
when tlie blooming season is past, it 
is still a handsome object. 

Dogwood, (Cornus Florida.) Now 
I know many a rural sv/ain, who has 
.more poetry in his soul than he is 
aware of, and who really loves the 
beautiful without knowing it, would 
laugh at the idea of transplanting a 
despised dogwood into his yard ; but 

after transplanting, he would love it 
and look at its wealth of pretty flow- 
ers with real gratification. Every 
one knows it too well to make a de- 
scription needful. 

Tulip-Tree, {Liriodendron tuli]yi- 
fera.) When old mother nature 
tried her "canny hand," at this tree, 
it proved to be " nae journey work." 
It is one of her master-pieces. Poor 
Downing used to become eloquent 
over it. " What can be more beauti- 
ful," said he, " than its trunk — finely 
proportioned and smooth as a Gre- 
cian column? what more artistic than 
its leaf — cut like an arabesque in a 
Moorish palace ? what more clean and 
lustrous than its tufts of foliage — 
dark green, and rich as deepest 
emerald? what more lily -like and 
specious than its blossoms — golden 
and bronze - shaded ? and what 
fairer and more queenly than its 
whole figure — stately and regal as 
that of Zenobia? For a park tree, 
to spread on every side, it is un- 
rivaled, growing a hundred and 
thirty feet high, and spreading into 
the finest symmetry of outline. For 
a street tree, its columnar stem — 
beautiful either with or without 
branches — with a low head, or a 
high head — foliage over the second 
story or under it — is precisely what 
is most needed." 

American Olive, {Olea Ame7'i- 
cana.) This is a very fine evergreen, 
producing clusters of small white 
flowers, of delightful fragrance in 
April. It somewhat resembles the 
mock-orange, but is easily distin- 
guished by the leaves being longer, 
thicker, and opposite instead of alter- 
nate. It is found generally along 
the sea-coast from Norfolk, Va., to 
Louisiana. It is peculiarly interest- 
ing on account of its being a genuine 
olive, and although its fruit is worth- 
less, it might be used as a stock for 
grafting the European olive, that 
most valuable of all plants. And 


Creepers of North- Carolina. 


now that the attention of so many- 
persons is directed to developing the 
resources of the South, we would 
call attention to the introduction of 
that tree, which the ancients say was 
given by the gods to man, and which 
at the present day furnishes the but- 
ter and cream of all southern Eu- 
rope. Numerous efforts have been 
made to introduce the European 
olive into the Southern States, with 
but partial success. I do not think, 
however, that the experiment of 
grafting it upon the native olive has 
yet been tried. There are some olive- 
trees in Devonshire, England, which 
have grown in the open air, many 
years, and are seldom injured by 
frost ; yet the summers are not warm 
enough there, to bring the fruit to 
perfection. Our summers are warm- 
er ; but our frosts are also severer. 
Still, I think as the native olive 
grows spontaneously as far north as 
Virginia, we might, by using it as a 
stock, succeed. Some ^ne with the 
energy of Nicholas Longworth might 
realize as large a fortune as he did. 
The olive is always grafted in Eu- 
rope. Mr. Robert Chisholm of Beau- 
fort, S. 0., has a plantation of these 
trees, which he brought from the 
neighborhood of Florence in 1833. 
He saj^s they bear good crops every 
year, occasionally abundant ones ; 
while in Europe, the habit of almost 
every variety is to bear only in al- 
ternate years. A French cook gen- 
erally considers olive oil superior to 
'either butter or lard for most of the 
purposes of cookery. When per- 
fectly fresh and pure, no butter or 
cream can be more delicious. For 
frying, shortening, enriching sauces, 
and making an immense number of 
vegetable dishes palatable, it is un- 
equaled. But I have digressed from 
the ornamental into the useful, for 
which I beg pardon. Without any 
irrelevancy, however, I might re- 
mind the reader of the beauty of 
landscape which is always found 
in a land of olive-yards and vine- 

These are a few of our splendid 
blooming trees ; for a fuller know- 

ledge of them, the reader is referred 
to Dr. Curtis' s work on the trees of 
North-Carolina. I will not attempt 
the magnolias ; they must have a 
chapter by themselves. 

Now for a few of our flowering 
shrubs, in which our old State is so 
rich. Our friends across the water 
ridicule our want of taste, in send- 
ing abroad for the materials to stock 
our flower-gardens and shrubberies, 
and entirely ignoring the far more 
beautiful productions of our own 
forests and prairies. "And so," said 
a distinguished Belgian botanist to 
an American friend, "in a country 
of azaleas, kalmias, rhododendrons, 
cypripediums, magnolias, and ny- 
sas — the loveliest flowers, trees, and 
shrubs of temperate climates — you 
rarely put them in your gardens, 
but send over the water every year 
for thousands of English larches and 
Dutch hyacinths. Voila le gout re- 
ptiMicain.'" If one of our mountain 
farmers from Wautauga or Yancy 
could see his native laurels {Rhodo- 
dendron) and " calico bushes," {Kal- 
mia,) as he calls them, as they flour- 
ish in some of the great country- 
seats of England, he would attach a 
new importance to the luxuriant 
beauty, which he now passes un- 
heeded or little cared for. There, 
whole acres of lawn, kept like vel- 
vet, are made the ground-work upon 
which these richest foliaged and gay- 
est of flowering shrubs are embroi- 

Laurel, {Rhododendron maxi- 
mum.) The flowers of this variety 
are an inch broad, growing in large 
and compact clusters, on the ends of 
the branches, and are generally of a 
faint, most exquisitely delicate rose- 
color. They repose among the rich, 
thick, dark-green, evergreen leaves, 
like Venus reposing upon her foam- 
wreathed bark of shell, (or any oth- 
er beautiful thing that you choose to 


tawMense.) This splendid variety 
blossoms earlier than the former, 
has flowers of a deeper, richer tint, 
and shorter, broader leaves. 


The Ornamental Flowering Trees, Shrubs, and 


Smooth Honeysuckle, {Asalea ar- 
horescens.) This is the most fragrant 
of our honeysuckles. The flowers 
are white and roseate ; but it is 
second in beauty to the 

Yellow Honeysuckle, {A. calen- 
dulacea.) This is one of the most 
brilliant flowering shrubs known. 
The color varies much, but is gen- 
erally some shade of yellow. It is 
only found at a considerable eleva- 
tion on our mountains, and the clus- 
ters of flowers grow in such pro- 
fusion on the hill-sides, that it re- 
minds one of a prairie on fire. No 
one who has not seen it can form 
any conception of its splendid beau- 
ty. It grows from three to six feet high. 

Purple Honeysuckle, {A. nudi- 
flora.) Not equal to the two pre- 
ceding ; but still pretty. 

Bursting Heart, {Euonymus Ame- 
ricanus.) The bright crimson ber- 
ries of this plant open their em- 
bossed covering into four leaves, and 
display within the smooth scarlet 
seeds, which gives it the name of 
bursting heart. The branches are as 
green as the leaves. Its beauty is 
peculiar, and it is quite popular in 
the mountain flower-gardens. Also 
called Indian arrow, and sometimes 

Virginia Creeper, (AmjJeloims 
quinquefolia.) This is one of the 
few creepers we will now notice. It 
clings closely to wood and stone, like 
the English ivy, and nothing can be 
more beautiful for covering the old 
gray walls of churches. It makes 
rich and graceful festoons of verdure 
in summer, and dies off in autumn 
in t?ie finest crimson. It bears small 
dark blue berries, on bright crimson 

Trumpet Flower, ( Tecoma grandi- 
flora.) This variety has large, cup- 
shaped flowers, and is a most showy 
and magnificent climber, "absolute- 
ly glowing in July with its thou- 
sands of rich, orange-red blossoms, 
like clusters of bright goblets." 

Virgin's Bowek, {Wistarea frute- 
scens.) Leaves pinnate, like those of 
the locust ; flowers purplish blue, 
pea-shaped,- in large compact clus- 
ters from four to six inches long. 

Carolina Jessamine, {Pelseminm 
sempervirens.) One of the most 
graceful of evergreens, and gorgeous 
of blossoms. Deliciously fragrant at 
a distance ; but too strong an odor 
when near. One of the most pro- 
fuse of the many floral treasures of 
the land we love, for it is found from 
the dear Old Dominion to the Gulf 


F. 0. T., of Georgia, expresses 
things prettily — he talks of "or- 
chards jubilant and wide." Very 
jubilant and wide is the orchard 
■of Colonel Buckner, four miles south 
of Milledgeville ; in a hundred acres 
of poor land he has planted twelve 
thousand apple-trees. It is a poor 
apple-tree that will not produce three 
bushels of apples ; and thirty - six 
thousand bushels of winter-apples, 
barreled and sent to a city market, 
would, at a very low estimate in the 
South, give you thirty-six thousand 
dollars — a very nice income for a 
hundred acres. The Rev. Dr. C 

visited Colonel Buckner's orchard a 
few years ago, and thus describes it : • 
" No orange grove of Italy is more 
beautiful than this orchard. Here 
are eight millions of apples, at least 
enough to furnish every man in Gen- 
eral B.'s army a daily dumpling 
for dinner for six months to come. 
Between an apple-dumpling and a 
cotton-bale, a half-starved soldier 
would not be long in choosing ; and 
this orchard would make a pyramid 
of apple-dumplings worth a Lookout 
Mountain of cotton bales. Cotton 
may be king, but the apple certainly 
merits a patent of nobility." Colonel 


Creepers of North- Carolina. 


Buckner has thousands of trees of 
the Shockly variety ; it is the best 
keeper at the South — may be bar- 
reled and sent to China. Colonel 
Hebron, of Warren county, Miss., 
has also an immense orchard, jubi- 
lant and wide. In 1859, his pear- 
trees alone covered a hundred acres, 
and were extending their borders 
every year ; he had twenty acres in 
peach-trees. There are many other 
fine orchards in the country, but the 
cultivation of fruit has not become 
so general as it should be. It is the 
planter's own fault if he has not 
pears and apples from June to June. 
I hope the enterprising Colonel Buck- 
ner will next plant an orchard of nut- 
trees. The English walnut grows 
splendidly in this climate, and the 
pecan is a native. In Persia, where 
what we erroneously call the English 
walnut {Juglans regia) is the subject 
of careful cultivation, the trees are 
grafted when they are five years old. 
It is usually grafted there in the cleft 
method, and begins to fruit ordi- 
narily two years after being grafted ; 
but two or three years more elapse 
before it is in full bearing. The 
average annual number of nuts 
brought to maturity on a single 
tree often amounts to twenty-five 
thousand. After a few years of full 
bearing, the trees frequently fall ofi" 
in producing fi^uit, and run with 
great luxuriance to leaf and branch. 
To remedy the evil, they cut off all 
the smaller branches and bring the 
tree to the state of a pollard. The 
year following, shoots and leaves 
alone are produced, which are suc- 
ceeded the next year by an abundant 
crop of nuts. The shell-bark hickory 
nut is one of the most delicious of 
nuts ; and it is a mistake to suppose 
that these large nut-trees, above re- 
ferred to, can not be grafted ; but the 
grafting must be done 'cery early in 


spring. The chestnut can also be 
grafted, if done very early. There 
is a fine pecan {Gary a olivmformis) 
growing in the Capitol grounds in 
Washington City, and it bears nuts 
equal to those brought from the 
South-west. On good soil it will 
come into bearing in twelve or fifteen 
years. The filbert is also a good nut, 
and as easily cultivated as a rasp- 
berry bush. A Georgia Peach, of a 
poetical turn, gives instructions in 
the art of planting, and we give place 
to the rotund orator, in his jacket of 
crimson and gold : 

Take it up tenderly, 

Plant it with care ; 
It's but a little tree, 

Nothing to spare ! 
Scant are the limbs on't, 

Fibres but few, 
Take care, or it won't 

Take care of you 1 

Mangle the bark of it ! — 

Man witli a soul ! 
Pestle the roots of it 

Into a hole ! 
Oh ! for the shame of it ! 

Better be dead, 
Fruit to the name of it ! 

Nary a Red ! 

Take it up tenderly, 

Man with a soul ! 
Oh ! but a little tree 

Likes a hig hole ! 
Fair is the sight of it, 

Lordly and bold ! 
Fruit on the limbs of it 

Crimson and gold ! 

Who'd be a market-man 

Selling his fruit. 
Gum in his eye and 

A worm at his root? 
Down with the raw-bone 

Shriveled and dry ! 
Juice for my jaw-bone ! 

Joy for my eye ! 

Basket on basketful, 

Peach upon peach ! 
Juno-like, beautiful ! 

Rosy and rich ! 
Choose for the good of you, 

Orchardists, each ! 
Dollar a load of you. 

Dollar a 



Review Rotices. 

[May, 1866. 


Mosses from a Rolling Stone. By Mrs. 
Mary Bayard Clarke. Raleigh, N. 0. : 
. W. B. Smith & Co. 

Poems from the wife of a hei'o of 
two wars, desperately wounded in 
both, and himself a poet of reputa- 
tion, would have peculiar claims upon 
the country irrespective of their merit. 
But they have real, intrinsic merit 
in themselves, as every reader of taste 
will perceive by the two specimens 
which we have given. Mrs. Clarke has 
been an industrious gatherer of the 
fugitive pieces of others, which but for 
her energy and discriminating taste 
might have perished. The world of 
letters is indebted to her for preserv- 
ing some of the beautiful songs of 
Philo Henderson — alas ! that so many 
of them have been lost. In her 
"Wood Notes," she has sought to do 
justice to the poetic talent of her na- 
tive State of North - Carolina, and 
every true son of the " Old North 
State" ought to feel truly grateful to 
her for her labor of love. 

We are glad, however, now to wel- 
come her in her own character, and 
trust that she may meet with that 
cordial support which genius and 
patriotism deserve. 

Nameless. A Novel. By Fanny Murdaugh 
Downing. Raleigh, N. C. : W. B. 
Smith & Go. 

This is a prettily conceived and 
well-written tale. We confess, too, 
that we are pleased that it ends well — 
virtue is I'ewarded and vice punished. 
This is as it should be. It may not 
be a true picture of life — but it ought 
to be a true picture. The great states- 
man of New -England said that he 
heard enough of logic and oratory 
during the week, and when he went 
to church on the Sabbath, he wanted 
to hear the Gospel in all its simplicity. 
So we see enough of misery and woe 
in the busy, active, bustling world, 
and when we pick up a work of fic- 
tion, we like to read of something 
bright, cheerful, and pleasant. So, 
too, we see too much of the triumph 

of sin, selfishness, and villainy not to 
be glad when the scoundrel is pun- 
ished, even though it only be at the 
tribunal of poetic justice, and not at 
that of the stern uncompromising 
magistrate. The poor beggar -boy 
goes to the iron grate of the kitchen 
of some wealthy city gentleman, 
peeps curiously at the costly dishes, 
and inhales with delight the odor of 
the rich feast he may not be allowed 
to touch. He goes away better satis- 
fled. He has inhaled the rich per- 
fume. Now in these days of lawless- 
ness, when robbery is protected and 
wickedness rampant, we are glad to 
see crime meet its deserved reward in 
the pages of a romance, if it meet it 
nowhere else. We have had at least 
a good smelly and go away content to 
wait for the feast till the grate is lifted 
and the watch-dog removed. 

We are glad, too, to observe that 
there is no sentence and no sentiment 
in the book which a prudent parent 
would wish his child not to see. This 
in itself would be no mean praise, 
now when th^re is so much vicious 
literature afloat on the surface of so- 
ciety. But while there is nothing to 
condemn on this score, there is, on 
the contrary, a healthy tone and a 
sound morality in it from beginning 
to end. 

It is to be regretted that the "get- 
ting-up" of the book is not what we 
had hoped to see. There are typo- 
graphical errors and careless printing, 
and of the kind best calculated to an- 
noy the sensitive writer and to de- 
stroy the pleasure of the reader. If 
the blemishes in a book are the re- 
sult of our poverty, every sensible 
person will excuse them. But when 
they proceed from neglect and care- 
lessness, they are intolerable. We 
hope that the day is not distant when 
the publishing houses at the South 
will imitate those of the North in the 
care and attention bestowed on their 
work, if they cannot rival them in 
the costly style and rich finish of their 


No. IL 

JUNE, 1866. 

Vol. I. 


That onr readers may form some institute a comparison bet^Yeen our- 

idea of how immeasurably we of the selves and Great Britain. From the 

South are behind the most prosperous Census of 1860 we have compiled the 

countries of the old world, we will following table : 






White & Colored. 

Square Miles. 













































Alabama, , , . . . 
Mississippi, . . . , 


Tennessee, .... 



By this table the area of these 
twelve Southern States is seen to be 
736,904 square miles. A table pre- 
pared from Lippincott's Gazetteer 
gives the area of the same States as 
742,470 square miles. Taking the 
estimate of the Census Bureau and 
dividing it into the aggregate popula- 
tion, 9,790,382, the quotient is about 
13 J. So that there are only 13^ in- 
habitants, including aged, helpless. 

women and children, for every square 
mile of surface. Texas, in fact, has 
but 2|- to the square mile, and Florida 
still less. Now the British census 
for 1861 gave the population of Eng- 
land and Wales, including the smaller 
British isles, at 20,205,504 ; the pop- 
ulation of Scotland 3,061,251 ; and 
that of Ireland at 5,764,543 ; total, 
29,031, 298. The entire area of Great 
Britain and Ireland is estimated by a 

* Continued from last number. 

TOIi I. — NO 11. 




writer in Lippincott's Gazetteer at 
120,410 square miles.* A simple di- 
vision gives, therefore, 241y„ inhabit- 
ants to the square mile. 

England and Wales, according to 
the same authority, have together 
57,812 square miles, and by a like 
division v/e get 349J inhabitants to 
the square mile. We can form but 
little idea of such dense packing in 
this country. Even Massachusetts, 
the most densely populated State, 
has but 157.83 to the square mile, or 
less than half the number in England 
and Wales. Rhode Island, the sec- 
ond most populous State, has only 
137.70 inhabitants to the square mile. 
But to form a correct idea of the pop- 
ulousness of the British Isles \fQ 
must deduct the immense tracts of 
land covered by mountains, water- 
courses, bogs, fens, royal parks, hunt- 
ing and pleasure-grounds of the 
wealthy, etc. How small a propor- 
tion of arable land will be left to each 
inhabitant ! If we make even an ap- 
proximate deduction for this vast loss, 
it would seem to be less than two 
acres of cultivatable soil to each in- 
habitant of England and Wales. 

Labor is then greatly in excess in 
the British Isles compared with our 
Southern States. 

They, therefore, need fewer labor- 
saving and labor-performing ma- 
chines than we do. Our population, 
in proportion to the area, is relatively 
eighteen times smaller than that of 
the whole British Isles, and about 
twenty-six times relatively smaller 
than that of England and Wales. In 
order, then, that the development of 
our resources should be equal to that 
of theirs, we must excel them eight- 
een or twenty-six times in that me- 
chanical power which supplies the 
place of human labor. 

In this estimate we have included 
the negro population, which can no 
longer be classed as a laboring ele- 
ment. Our calculations must be 
based upon the white inhabitants, as 
the only reliable source of future 
strength, These, as we have seen. 

amount to 6,182,083, or a little more 
than 8^^ to the square mile. Upon 
this basis we need, in order to have 
an equal development of material re- 
sources, 29 times a greater amount of 
machinery than the British Isles, or 
42 times the amount of England and 
Wales. Let us see hovf this matter 
stands. We have a statement from 
Hon. and Rev. James Hamilton, now 
Lord Brougham, that the machinery 
of the British Isles performs the 
labor of 500 millions of able-bodied 
hands, and does it cheaper and bet- 
ter. If this were equally distributed 
among the people, what a vast amount 
of prosperity there would be ! Each 
inhabitant would have 20 eflScient 
laborers working for him. 

But as it is unequally apportioned, 
we are at no loss to understand the 
astonishing luxury and magnificence 
of the favored classes, as well as the 
greatness and pov/er of the whole na- 
tion. It is not wonderful that, with 
such a command of labor, thej^ can 
clothe the world with their manufac- 
tures, supply it with their mineral 
riches, dot its surface everywhere 
with their colonies, and whiten its 
seas with their sails. It is not 
wonderful that, with the wealth pro- 
cured by their labor, they should 
control to such an extent the des- 
tinies of millions of mankind. 

How large a proportion of their 
population are thus relieved, too, 
from the mere drudgery of vrork, and 
are enabled to turn their attention to 
scientific pursuits and new discov- 
eries in the mechanic arts, and there- 
by add, in their turn, to the riches 
and prosperity of the empire. 

We have no statistical inform.ation 
by which we can compare our own 
deficiencies with their advantages.- 
Every schoolboy knows our immea- 
surable inferiority. 'Tis sufficient to 
awaken an interest on the subject to 
state what mechanical power they 
have, and hov,- much more we want 
to develop with our smaller popula- 
tion our vaster resources. The exact 
measure of our shortcomings is an 

* The usual geographical estimate, 120,900 sqiiarc Tiiiles. 




useless humiliation. Nor would the 
knowledge of our inferiority be of 
any profit at all, did we not investi- 
gate the cause of it and seek the right 
remedy. The British schools of 
learning turn the thoughts of the 
people to scientific studies, and the 
British policy rewards with riches 
and honor successful inventors, dis- 
coverers, and laborers in every de- 
partment of human effort. Our 
schools of learning turn men's minds 
away from science, and our policy 
rewards the politician and soldier 
alone with the highest distinctions. 

In a country where an aristocracy 
is recognized as one of the estates of 
the realm, men of rank are of course 
looked up to, and titles are the great 
objects of ambition. 

Now, Great Britain has for genera- 
tions not only conferred pensions 
upon her sons eminent in letters and 
science ; but she has held out to all 
who might distinguish themselves, 
the additional and more powerful in- 
centive of rank, orders, stars and 

Hence the lowly -born peasant of 
genius, probity, and industry may 
always hope to see the day when, 
like the Lord Thurlow, of humble 
birth, he might feel that he "was" 
as much respected and as respectable 
as any lord he looked down upon. 
Still another influence is brought to 
bear in stimulating mental activity 
and evoking talent from all classes of 
society — namely, the hope of a burial- 
place or a monument within the sa- 
cred precincts of Westminster Abbey, 
where rest the ashes of kings and 
queens, and where are sculptured the 
deeds of nobles, statesmen, orators, 
warriors, navigators, poets, painters, 
etc. The combined effect of all these 
agencies has been to make Great Bri- 
tain the first of nations in wealth, in 
power, and in intellectual greatness. 
Take away her discoveries, her inven- 
tions, her works of genius and learn- 
ing during the last four hundred years, 
and mankind would almost be in a 
state of barbarism. 

As the whole civilized world has 
felt the beneficial effects of her wise 

and judicious policy, it may be well 
to glance at it briefly, as our own 
model and exemplar. 

In order to show how this policy 
stimulates to exertion and rewards 
merit in every walk of life, we will 
give a few examples from her history. 
Pages might be written on this subject, 
but the few examples given will be 
sufficient to explain the general sys- 
tem. Law and politics have been 
stepping-stones by which the men of 
tlie people have attained to the highest 
positions of power, have entered the 
sacred circle of the aristocracy, and 
have founded the noblest families of 
the realm. 

Thus WiUiam Cecil rose to be Lord 
Burleigh, and for forty years the con- 
fidential minister of Queen Elizabeth. 
" For Burleigh she relaxed that severe 
etiquette to which she was unreason- 
ably attached. Every other person 
to whom she addressed her speech, 
or on whom the glance of her eagle 
eye fell, instantly sank on his knee. 
For Burleigh alone a chair was set in 
her presence ; and there the old min- 
ister, by birth only a plain Lincoln- 
shire esquire, took his ease, while the 
haughty heirs of the Fitz Alans and 
the De Veres humbled themselves in 
the dust before him." Thus Edmund 
Hyde became the Earl of Clarendon 
and the grandfather of two English 
queens. Thus Pitt, "the great Com- 
moner," rose to be Earl Chatham, 
prime minister of the kingdom, " the 
power behind the throne greater than 
the throne itself;" the hostile monarch 
became a suppliant to his subject, 
who could proudly say to the Duke 
of Devonshire, " I know that I can 
save the nation, and I believe that 
no other man can." 

Henry Addington, the son of a phy- 
sician, became Lord Sidmouth and 
prime minister. Wolsey, the son of 
a butcher, by the force of talents 
became the second man in the king- 
dom. Francis Bacon became Lord 
Verulam and Lord Chancellor of Eng- 
land. Thurlow, the son of a rector, 
rose also to the woolsack and a peer- 
age. Alexander Wedderburne, of 
respectable but untitled parents, sue- 



ceeded Lord Thurlow as Chancellor, 
and received on retirement the title 
of Earl of Rosslyn. 

William Scott, the son of a coal 
factor, was raised to the peerage as 
Lord Stowell. His more celebrated 
brother John rose to the peerage as 
Lord Eldon and to be Chancellor of 
England. James Scarlett, the eminent 
lawyer, became Baron of the Exche- 
quer and Lord Abinger. Charles 
Abbot, the son of a hair-dresser, 
became Lord Tenterden. Thomas 
Denman, the son of a physician, was 
raised to be attorney-general and a 
peer of the realm. Samuel Romilly, 
the son of a jeweler, rose to knight- 
hood, and the office of solicitor-general. 
James Mackintosh rose also to the 
rank of knighthood and to a seat in 
Parliament. AVilliam Plunkett, the 
son of a clergyman, rose to the peer- 
age. William Blackstone, the orphan 
boy, became a knight, a judge, and 
the great expounder of English law. 
Thomas Littleton became a judge and 
the ancestor of the Lords Littleton 
of Worcestershire. Edmund Coke 
became a knight and chief justice of 
the king's bench. Matthew Hale, 
" the incorruptible judge," rose to 
the same dignities. Edmund Burke, 
the Irish boy, without influence or 
patronage, became the leader of the 
British Parliament. In our own day, 
George Canning, the son of.a strolling 
actress, rose to be prime minister ; and 
Robert Peel, the son of a successful 
manufacturer, attained to the same 
dignity. Henry Brougham, without 
hereditary rank, won for himself the 
post of lord chancellor of the realm. 
In the same connection it may be 
mentioned that John Shore, the son 
of a supercargo in the East-India 
service, became the celebrated Lord 
Teignmouth. Robert Clive, a poor 
clerk in the same service, became 
Lord Clive Baron of Plassej'-. William 
Petty, the son of a clothier, rose to 
wealth, to knighthood, and to be the 
ancestor of the lords of Lansdown. 
The army has opened a wide door 
of entrance for the common people 
into the privileged classes, and has 
brought wealth and additional rank 

to those who belonged to the aristo- 
cracy. Thus Marlborough and Wel- 
lington, both of the upper class, rose 
to dukedoms, and had untold riches 
showered upon them. Time would 
fail to speak of Amherst, Napier, 
Picton, Ponsonby, Hill, and thou- 
sands of others, who have won rank 
and fame by military service. The" 
navy, the nation's favorite, has spe- 
cially developed the latent courage 
and enterprise of the people. Francis 
Drake worked for years before the 
mast. His father, a poor clergyman, 
with twelve children, could make no 
provision for him. But he became 
the most renowned navigator of his 
age — was knighted by Queen Eliza- 
beth, who, as a mark of regard for 
him, dineci with him on his own ship, 
the Royal Hind. 

Blake, the greatest of all the naval 
heroes of Britain, was born to pov- 
erty. His glorious achievements won 
for him a burial-place in Westminster 
Abbejr, and the order for burial came 
from Cromwell himself. Lords An- 
son, Nelson, Exmouth, Rodney, St. 
VinceAt, Collingwood, all rose to the 
peerage by their own merit. Fro- 
bisher, Raleigh, Lancaster, Shovel, 
Parry, Franklin, rose to knighthood. 
But this honor has been conferred 
with lavish hand upon merit in all 
professions. Among painters who 
have been knighted may be men- 
tioned Lely, Thornhill, Rejmolds, 
Wilkie, Lawrence, Ra'eburn, Shee, 
Robert Kerr Porter, the brother of 
the female novelists. 

Among literary men, Steele, Wil- 
liam Jones, Scott, Alison, Bulwer, 
Macaulay rose to a peerage, and 
Thackeray was buried in Westmin- 
ster Abbey. 

Among men of science, Newton, 
Leslie, Bell, Banks, Davy, Brewster, 
Sloan, the Herchels, father and son. 

Among physicians and surgeons, 
Astley Cooper, Pringlc, Rawson, 
James Edward Smith, the queen's 

Among architects and engineers, 
we may name Yanbrugh, Wren, Bru- 
nei, Middleton, Soane, Arkwright, 
Rennie the younger. Telford, the in- 




ventor of the tubular bridge, the son 
of a Scotch shepherd, had his last 
resting-place in Westminster Abbey, 
among the illustrious dead of a 
mighty nation. Practical business 
talent is more admired with the 
British people than with any other 
on earth. Brindley was a celebrated 
man before he could read or write. 
How much honored have been the 
Stevensons, engineers, George Ste- 
phenson, the railway king, the Ken- 
nies, Smeatons, etc. A friend told 
the writer, that on his visit to Eng- 
land at the opening of the Crystal 
Palace, its inventor was the man 
most talked of in the kingdom, 
though he was at that time gardener 
to the Duke of Devonshire. 

But Watt has been the most hon- 
ored of all the self-made men of Great 
Britain. Universities and colleges 
conferred degrees upon him. ■ Scien- 
tific societies enrolled his name among 
their members. The profoundest re- 
spect was shown him by all classes 
during his life, and after his death a 
meeting, composed of the most emi- 
nent men in the kingdom, and presid- 
ed over by the prime minister, was 
held to do honor to his memory. A 
monument was ordered to be erected 
by Ohantrey in Westminster Abbey, 
to perpetuate the fame of his great 

We, irreverent republicans, can 
hardly understand how highly this 
last distinction is regarded by the 
Englishman, with his large organ of 
veneration. But we can see the 
effect of it, when such a man as Nel- 
son could use as his battle-cry, 
"Westminster Abbey or victory !" 

A special spot, called the Poet's 
Corner, is allotted within the hal- 
lowed precincts of the Abbey to the 
great poets of the kingdom. Here 
lie Chaucer, Cowley, Spenser, Dry- 
den, etc. 

But the wise policy of this truly 
great nation stimulates to mental ac- 
tivity by substantial aid as well as by 
rank and honors. Pensions are freely 
conferred upon men eminent for their 
talents, and upon their families. In- 

ventions and discoveries are hand- 
somely rewarded in pounds, shiUings, 
and pence. Jenner, the discoverer of 
vaccine matter, was paid £10,000 by 
act of Parliament in the current coin 
of the kingdom. General Shrapnel, 
the inventor of the shell which bears 
his name, was granted £1200 annu- 
ally for life. Is it wonderful that 
these multiplied incentives should 
develop such a prodigious amount of 
intellectiml effort, in every walk of 
life, in every pursuit, in every trade, 
calling, and profession ? Is it won- 
derful that this system has produced 
prodigies of valor, wisdom, learning, 
and ingenuity in all classes of society ? 

Is it wonderful that we of the 
South have achieved greatness in one 
department only of human effort, 
since our educational system and our 
policy did not arouse all our faculties 
throughout our entire population ? 
The sailor and the blacksmith may 
have great strength, but this lies in 
the arm. It is not the healthful de- 
velopment of the perfect man. And 
so with us. One class only has been 
developed to the highest point, and 
that development has been in but a 
single direction- — toward political 
life. Our mighty men have been 
strong like the sailor and the black- 
smith, for one species of effort, and for 
one only. The educated man of the 
South was like the hero of the fairy 
tale ; in the legislative chamber he 
was a mail-clad warrior, armed at all 
points, ready to assail, and invulner- 
able to attack ; but as soon as he re- 
crossed the portal of the enchanted 
hall, his armor fell off, his sword 
crumbled to dust, his tough and cord- 
like sinews became soft and flexible 
as those of a delicate woman. The 
invincible champion was changed into 
the feeble imbecile. 

It was unfortunate even in our 
halcyon days of ease and prosperity, 
to have had a system of instruction 
adapted specially to one class of so- 
ciety. It was doubly unfortunate 
that this training qualified that class 
for preeminence in but a single voca- 
tion. Nature delights in variety. If 
we look above at those bright orbs 




which make the heavens resplendent, 
we see one star differing from an- 
other star in glory. Each of the count- 
less myriads of luminaries differs 
from "its fellows in form, color, spe- 
cific gravity, and period of revolu- 
tion. If we look down, the very at- 
oms beneath our feet are all unlike 
in shape, size, and weight. If we 
look abroad on some boundless for- 
est, we find each tree, each twig and 
shrub without a counterpart ; yea, of 
the millions of millions of leaves that 
are dancing greenly in the breeze or 
lying withered upon the ground, 
there are no two exactly alike in tex- 
ture and configuration. Exclusive- 
ness in education, giving a single 
aim and tendency, is contrary then 
to the whole economy of nature. It 
does violence to our mental organi- 
zation. It is a wrong to the indi- 
vidual, as it denies him that simul- 
taneous development of the faculties 
which is essential to true greatness. 
It is a wrong to society, as it fails 
to arouse and stimulate those mental 
activities which might benefit and 
enrich mankind. This twofold wrong 
was involved in the plan of instruc- 
tion when we were free and wealthy. 
To characterize it aright now, we 
need only say that it teaches those 
things we can not use, and leaves 
those untaught which are of inesti- 
mable value. We believe that under 
our old social system, the South 
came next to Great Britain in pro- 
ducing a noble specimen of the high- 
toned gentleman. The educated 
Irishman, the stately Scot, the pol- 
ished Englishman, what fine models 
of manhood do all three present ! 
The quiet dignity of manner, the 
easy, unassuming self-possession, the 
calm consciousness of power result- 
ing from being looked up to habitu- 
ally — these characteristics of the 
gentleman are products of a soil upon 
which there exists a privileged class. 
Great Britain has them because Great 
Britain has an hereditary aristocracy. 
The South had them in a more ex- 
tended if not more prominent degree, 
because the most humble white man 
had a class below him. We are far 

from asserting that all the hereditar3' 
aristocracy have the address, the 
bearing, the breeding, and the edu- 
cation of gentlemen. Tares will grow 
with the wheat. But we judge of 
the field by its general yield, and 
not by its accidental and unnatural 
varieties. Thus in Great Britain, the 
prevalence of courtesy and refine- 
ment are so general in the upper cir- 
cles that "high-born" and "gentle- 
manly" are interchangeable adjec- 

Nor do we mean that those of hum- 
ble origin can not be gentlemen. The 
talents which win for them rank and 
position will enable them to acquire 
the grace and urbanity becoming 
their exalted stations. But in acquir- 
ing this jjolish the self-made man 
will inevitably take as his model 
those who have greatness as their 
birthright, and he is thought to have 
received the highest compliment 
when he is said to fill his station as 
naturally and as gracefullj'- as though 
born in it. There are nature's no- 
blemen in all walks of life, and thej^, 
whenever found, will be recognized 
by all of kindred minds and hearts. 
The aristocracy, however, give the 
general tone to society in the British 
Isles, and there is none on earth 
more pure and elevated. The South, 
with a similar social organization to 
that of Great Britain at the present 
day, and to France in the time of the 
old noMesse, had likewise a distinct, 
well-defined class of gentlemen. AVe 
do not pretend to decide whether 
this social system was the best form 
of society. The people of this gen- 
eration are neither responsible for 
its existence nor its abrogation. Bos- 
ton cruisers introduced it. (See Pre- 
liminary Report of Eighth Census, 
page 9.) The dominant party of the 
North abolished it. (See Acts of 
Congress.) We are not dealing with 
questions of morals or of political 
economy. We are simply dealing 
with the facts of the past. On the 
great plantations of the old slave 
States, the social life made the near- 
est approximation to that of the Eng- 
lish aristocracy. And under the in- 




fluence of this system were born 
and reared men of the noble British 
type. Washington, Madison, An- 
drew Jackson, Calhoun, Pinckney, 
Carroll, the Calverts, the Lees and 
Carters of Virginia, the Rutledges, 
Pinckneys, and Lowndes of South- 
Carolina, the Waltons and Jacksons 
of Georgia, Macon and Davie of North- 
Carolina, and hundreds of others. 
N. P. Willis, himself a Northern man, 
a student of books and of men, who 
has seen and mingled with the best 
classes of the new and old world, has 
paid the most graceful tribute to the 
polish of Southern bearing and man- 
ners. Th*e Countess of Westmore- 
land said to Mr. Buchanan that she 
had seen most of the crowned heads 
of Europe, and that not one of them 
would compare with President Jack- 
son for ease and dignity of manners. 
Our Southern statesmen, too, would 
compare favorably with those of 
Great Britain. Madison, Calhoun, 
Clay, McDuflSe, Macon were as thor- 
ough masters of the science of gov- 
ernment as the Pitts, the Cannings, 
and the Broughams of Great Britain. 
Marshall, Taney, Gaston, etc., were 
as conversant with the great princi- 
ples of law as the Eldons, the Stow- 
ells, and the Loughboroughs of the 
British Isles. The combined influ- 
ence of the Southern social system 
and of Southern ideas in imparting 
lofty notions of personal dignity, and 
of Southern educational training in 
the science of government with re- 
gard to the checks and balances of 
the Constitution, has been manifest- 
ed in the exercise of the veto power. 
It is a curious fact that, with two 
solitary exceptions all the vetoes have 
come from Southern Presidents. 
Washington used this prerogative of 
the Executive twice, Madison six 
times, Monroe once, Jackson nine 
times, Tyler four times, Polk three 
times. Pierce four times, and Mr. 
Johnson already twice. Messrs. 
Buchanan and Pierce were the only 
Northern Presidents who exercised 
this right ; and the former did it 
on a question involving Southern 
rights (and it was alleged by his ene- 
mies) under Southern influence. He 

and Mr. Pierce were trained in the 
school of Calhoun, and had the 
same views with reference to the 
independence of the great coor- 
dinate departments of the govern- 
ment. But while we claim that 
Southern statesmen, jurists, ora- 
tors, and gentlemen bear no un- 
favorable comparison with those 
of Great Britain, here the parallel 
ceases. Great Britain developed 
every variety of talent. We have 
cultivated but a single species. Our 
authors have had to take their man- 
uscripts North, or leave their books 
unpublished. Hence, literature has 
dwindled down from folios and quar- 
tos to political pamphlets or ephem- 
eral newspapers. Our Washington 
Allston had to go to New-England 
with his pictures, and painting ceas- 
ed to be cultivated at the South. Our 
Audubon had to take his drawings 
to Europe, and no such student of 
nature has arisen since. Our Holmes 
and Bachman have more reputation 
abroad than at home, and natural 
science has languished for want of 
sympathy and encouragement. 

Our McCormick had to go North 
with his reaper, which now cuts the 
harvests of the world. Our John 
Gill, of New-Berne, N. C, had to 
turn over his great invention to Colt, 
which, under better management, has 
revolutionized the whole system of 
warfare. Gill died in poverty, while 
Colt made his millions. He died un- 
honored ; but the wise British policy 
rev>rarded Armstrong for a less inven- 
tion with knighthood and bounties. 
Our Brooke solved the problem of 
the deep - sea sounding apparatus 
upon which the scientific men of Eu- 
rope had labored ; but Brooke would 
have starved to death at the South in 
a purely scientific calling. 

Our Yfells explained the theory of 
dew, of which the world had been ig- 
norant for nearly six thousand years ; 
but he had to go across the ocean to 
make his discoveries known. Can 
language be found strong enough to 
condemn our criminal neglect of tal- 
ent ? It has not been an error mere- 
ly ; it has been a great and grievous 




It is a remarkable fact that the 
parables of our Lord are chiefly aim- 
ed at sins of neglect, and not at sins 
of positive transgression. In the 
parable of the talents, of the pounds, 
of the wise and foolish virgins, of the 
rich man and Lazarus, of the barren 
fig-tree, neglect of duty is the sin 
rebuked and punished. Surely we 
have been guilty before heaven in 
this respect. The wit of man could 
not have devised a more efficient 
plan for smothering up talent and 
for withering and blighting that which 
had escaped burial. 

And yet the war demonstrated that 
there was no lack of ingenuity and 
skill at the South. What triumphs 
of engineering did Beauregard, Gil- 
mer, Harris, Elliott, and Johnson 
achieve around Charleston ? What 
mighty ramparts arose amidst the 
ruins of the pasteboard walls of 
Sumter, upon which the most pow- 
erful ordnance of the world could 
make no impression ! How soon did 
the science of Brooke change an old 
hulk into a mighty sea-monster — the 
terror of all the fleets of the second 
maritime nation of the globe ? 

" Your Merrimac has demonstrat- 
ed," said General Dis to the writer, 
" that England has no navy." When 
the troops first began to pour into 
Richmond from the South, the great 
anxiety of General Lee was in re- 
gard to percussion-caps. There was 
not a single factory in all the seceded 
States. But the ingenuity of the 
younger Rains at Nashville, and of a 
gentleman of Lynchburgh, William 
H. Wash, soon supplied the army with 
a better article than any before used. 
The torpedo had been regarded as an 
useless and impracticable thing ; but 
in the hands of the elder Rains it be- 
came a most formidable weapon of 
defense. Vessels of war dare not 
venture into rivers and harbors un- 
til these hidden terrors had been re- 
moved. The mightiest iron-clad ship 
shrank back in alarm from the little 
torpedo-boat, not larger than a fish- 
erman's canoe. Thousands of expe- 
riments had been tried with sub- 
marine boats, and all had failed. It 

was reserved for rebel ingenuity to 
demonstrate their practicability. In 
Charleston harbor, the Ironsides, the 
pride of the United States navy, was 
seriously damaged, and a sloop of 
war was sunk by one of these tiny 
antagonists. A fear and dread of 
them fell upon the whole blockading 
squadron. Many an anxious, sleep- 
less night did they cause. Many a 
broadside was fired at a floating log 
or plank in the apprehension of a 
blow-up from the "little Davids," as 
these miniature warriors were called. 
The first rifled cannon of large cali- 
bre was the invention of the South. 
Captain Fairfax, with a single rifled 
thirty-two pounder in a little river 
steamer, boldly attacked an United 
States frigate, and literally riddled 
her. In fact, the Southern mind is 
eminently ingenious and suggestive, 
while the Northern mind takes up 
the hints thrown out, appropriates 
and improves them. 

Colonel Halpine, in the Federal 
armjr, has judiciously observed: "The 
fei'vid imagination of the Southern 
people delighted in feats of romance 
like Stuart's, and it made them, dur- 
ing the war, the great suggestive 
captains. They built, the first iron- 
clads, made the first great raids, and 
under Stonewall Jackson executed 
the earliest of the great infantry- 
marches. But the colder adaptabil- 
ity of the North developed qy&vj 
hint from the South into a perfect 
system. The experiment of the Mer- 
rimac has grown to the Dictator, the 
Dunderberg, and the Ironsides. The 
engineering assiduity of Beauregard, 
imitated by the North, has marked 
the camps of our armies, as if the 
protecting mountains had followed 
our columns. But it may be doubt- 
ed if any division commander has 
yet arisen to rival the splendid infan- 
try genius of Jackson." 

The views here presented are not 
new with the writer. At the time of 
the great fight in Hampton Roads, he 
expressed to many friends his regret 
that the Merrimac had come out be- 
fore a fleet of iron-clads had been 
formed, and added his belief that the 


Governor Pickens. 


North would soon surpass us with 
our own inventions. But superior 
industry and not superior adaptabil- 
ity is the right word. 

We are far behind the North in 
industry, energy, and perseverance. 
But for our indolence and procrasti- 
nation, the Louisiana would have 
walked the waters as a queen. The 

whole United States navy could not 
have resisted her. With proper en- 
terprise she could have been com- 
pleted in time to have saved New- 
Orleans, and thereby perhaps the 
Southern Confederacy. 

D. H. H. 

{To "he continued?) 


On the highway leading from Con- 
cord to Beattiesford, in the western 
border of Cabarrus county, North- 
Carolina, may be seen an old dilapi- 
dated building — a locality rife with 
those reminiscences that make in 
part that history which is philosophy 
teaching by example. On the farm 
now owned and. occupied by Mr. E. 
R. Harris, Israel Pickens, the first 
Governor of Alabama, was born. It 
was originally the homestead of the 
Pickens family. Israel Pickens was 
brought up and educated in this 
neighborhood under the tutelage of 
Dr. Robinson, then the accomplished 
preceptor of an academy at Poplar 
Tent Church. How faithfully and 
how well the distinguished pupil 
proved worthy of the instructions of 
his gifted and illustrious teachei", let 
his short bvit brilliant career as a 
statesman suffice to answer. Gov- 
ernor Pickens was twice elected to 
Congress from the mountain district 
of his native State ; but was appointed 
by President Monroe in 1817 Terri- 
torial Governor of Alabama, ere his 
second term in Congress expired. 
In 1819, after the admission of that 
State into the Union, he was elected 
by the people Governor of the State. 

When his term of office as Chief 

Magistrate expired, he was elected, 
by her Legislature, a Senator of the 
United States, which distinguished 
position he held consecutively till 
his untimely death in 1826 at Matan- 
zas, in the Island of Cuba, whither 
he had gone in the vain hope of ar- 
resting the ravages of pulmonary 

His genius as a statesman is en- 
stamped upon the early history of 
Alabama ; and her Legislature well 
attested the gratitude ' of the people 
for his distinguished services, by 
ordering his remains to be removed 
from the island, and buried in the 
bosom of the land of his adoption. 
Alabama contains his ashes, but 
North-Carolina must share his fame. 

Having illustrated a brief but use- 
ful and distinguished career, he 
passed away in the meridian of life, 
and preceded his illustrious teacher 
nearly twenty years, to accoiintabili- 
ties where faith can only follow them. 

How truly is realized in the end of 
teacher and pupil — " the old man 
eloquent ' ' and the young statesman, 
the poetic line, 

" The path of glory leads but to the grave." 

W. S. H. 





Seven cities claimed to be the birth- 
place of Homer. But there is no 
doubt about that of the man whom 
the world delights to honor. George 
Washington, so equable and self-pois- 
ed amidst all the mutations of fortune, 
could only have derived his being 
from " the mother of States and states- 
men ;" so serene, unelated, and mag- 
nanimous in prosperity, so unmoved, 
unshaken and undismayed in her hour 
of trial ; her sons numbering among 
them the foremost in the council, the 
forum, and the field, constituting a 
long line of Presidents, statesmen, or- 
ators, warriors, scholars, and gentle- 
men. Her daughters the first at every 
festival of national rejoicing, the last 
at every scene of suffering. Each 
lovely being as 

" She walks a goddess and looks a queen," 

fitted to adorn the halls of a court or 

the saloons of the great and noble, yet 
alive to every kind and gentle emotion, 
ready to encourage the despondent, to 
stimulate the faint-hearted, to admire 
the heroic, and to nurse the wounded, 
the sick, and the dying. We love no 
land as well as our own Carolinas ; but 
we scorn that narrov/ sectionalism, 
which will not admit that Virginia 
has displaj-ed a grand heroism and 
fortitude under misfortune, which 
have not been manifested in the same 
degree by any of her suffering sisters. 
What people ever bore so patiently 
and resolutely as did the Virginians 
the burning of their cities, towns, vil- 
lages, hamlets and private residences ; 
the destruction of their fences, crops, 
and farming utensils ; the robbing of 
their horses, mules, and cattle ; the 
plunder of their household goods, the 
desecration of their churches, and the 
slaughter of the noblest and best of 
their sons ? Tiie world never before 
exhibited such a spectacle of manly 
endurance of multiplied evils, audit 
will never exhibit it again unless the 
same people are thrown once more 
into the furnace of affliction. Virginia 

hospitality ! celebrated throughout the 
world, but never so generously, and 
so munificently displayed as during 
the four years of the suffering and des- 
olation of war. What soldier was ever 
turned away hungry from the rifled 
mansion of the once wealthy, or the 
lowly hut of the always poor but now 
half-starved inmate ? 

Even the shameless straggler, with 
the old graceless, stereotj^ped story of 
" nothing to eat in three days," ever 
met the cordial welcome and the out- 
stretched hand. General Jackson 
was wont to complain that the gener- 
osity of the people to stragglers ruined 
the discipline of the army. Just in 
proportion as their lands were laid 
waste and their houses plundered, did 
their goodness and their liberality in- 

The fount of Jupiter Amnion sent 
forth cooler, more delicious and more 
refreshing waters as the tropical sun 
waxed fiercer and hotter. So when 
war most withered and blighted, then 
did kindness and sympathy gush 
forth from Virginia hearts most sweet- 
ly and most copiously. A mother of 
great and glorious men, of fair and 
noble women, we who wei'e not of thy 
favored offspring may have thought 
thee too partial to thy deserving sons, 
too prone to cast a mantle over thy 
erring ones ; but we can never forget 
thy generosit)^ to our living, thy tears 
over our dead. 

George Washington was a Virgin- 
ian. The distinctive features of his 
character are the distinctive features 
of his people to this day. 

No one can understand him who 
does not know them. No one can 
venerate his memory who does not 
admire them, living, breathing, acting. 
No one can appreciate his illustrious 
qualities who has not a clear percep- 
tion of the lofty traits of his country- 
men. The elaborate history of Mar- 
shall, the memoirs and letters pre- 
served bySparks, the graphic sketches 
of Irving, the swelling periods of Ev- 




erett, give no such vivid impression 
of the man as may be gained by a sin- 
gle month's residence in Virginia. 
Take away from Washington his dis- 
tinguishing characteristics as" a Vir- 
ginian, and he becomes Hke Samson 
shorn of liis locli:s, or the Grand Mon- 
arch divested of his royal trappings — 
a very ordinary mortal indeed. The 
world venerates him for the three great 
qualities of magnanimity, unshaken 
constancy under reverses, and self- 
abnegation. Each of these his people 
exhibit at this hour in as remarkable 
a degree as did he himself. Let us 
examine them separately. 

When a young man, he in a moment 
of passion, insulted a gentleman, who, 
prompt to resent a wrong, knocked 
him down on the spot. 

Dueling was the established order 
of things in those days, and a blow 
was considered a disgrace only to be 
wiped out in blood. But Washing- 
ton felt that he was the sinning party, 
and he had the rare courage and 
greatness of soul to confess his fault 
and to beg pardon of the man who had 
struck him to the earth. That was 
sublime ; but how infinitely short does 
it fall of Lee at Gettysburg!! ! When 
the question arose as to who was re- 
sponsible for the misguided attack and 
dreadful I'epulse — "I ordered it,blame 
no one but me," said the grand old 
hero. And a magnanimous country 
was fain to forget the error in the 
magnificent atonement. 

Who will compare the greatness of 
forgiving a blow with that of assum- 
ing the most momentous responsibil- 
ity ever devolved upon mortal man — 
the responsibility of a lost battle ? 
When President Jackson was asked 
whether ho forgave his enemies, he 
replied, " That is a hard question ; let 
me have a day to reflect upon it." 
When the same question was repeated 
the next day, he replied, " I can for- 
give all my enemies except those who 
have reflected upon my military 
character." The sensitiveness of the 
soldier in regard to his reputation has 
passed into a prOverb throughout the 
world ; but yet the sense of justice of 
the Virginia soldier was higher than 

his sensitiveness. If the lesser mag- 
nanimity of the first President be ex- 
tolled, let not the greater act of the 
rebel Virginian be forgot. 

We admire the greatness of soul 
which prompted Washington to say, 
" I care not who saves the country, 
I care only that the country be saved." 
A cabal was then forming for his re- 
moval from office; and his friends, 
including Patrick Henrj^, were indig- 
nant at the base attempt ; but he, 
forgetful of self, was thinking only 
about the salvation of his country. 

In a like spirit, the great soldier 
above named replied, when told that 
an ofiicer whom he had recommended 
for promotion thought unkindly of 
him, " Sir, the question is not what 

General W thinks of me, but 

what I think of him." 

And how sublime, too, was the 
conduct of that other Virginian, J. 
E. Johnston, when superseded at 
Atlanta after what the country now 
recognizes as a successful campaign. 
Not a word of complaint did the 
noble hero utter against the cruel 
blunder. He made no unmanly ap- 
peals for sympathy to the soldiers 
who idolized him, nor to the country 
which reposed the most implicit con- 
fidence in him. Thinking not of self, 
but of the salvation of his country, 
he called for his successor, who had 
been his own subordinate, explained 
fully to him the condition of things, 
the relative position ©f the two armies, 
their strength, etc., and then un- 
folded to him what had been his own 
plans and intentions. Every effort 
was made to enable his successor to 
win those laurels which had been 
denied to him.. 

History has but few instances of 
as great magnanimity as this. There 
was nothing more sublime in the life 
of that Virginian whom the world 

Loftiness of mind is just as com- 
mon now among the countrymen of 
Washington, as it was in the time of 
the first great rebellion. 

"A good man in adversity is a 
spectacle for the gods," was a maxim 
with that people who had the justest 




appreciation of true greatness of soul. 
The Son of God manifest in the flesh 
was such a spectacle. But the 
tabernacle of clay could not conceal 
the rays of his divinity. Spite of 
his lowliness of birth and his poverty, 
the common people heard him gladly, 
and the rulers feared him, because 
" the whole world went after him." 
Thus, nor want, nor rags, nor scorn, 
nor contempt, nor malice, nor rage of 
enemies, nor slander can conceal the 
true nolaility of a really great and 
good man. 

On the contrary, the candle shines 
all the brighter for the surrounding 
gloom. In the darkest hours of our 
country's struggle, the lustre of 
Washington's character was the most 
resplendent. We love to think of 
him, not as the successful warrior at 
Yorktown, receiving the surrender of 
the hitherto invincible Cornwallis ; 
not as the President of a new-born 
Eepublic of which he was the father ; 
not as the nation's idol, and the ad- 
mired of mankind; but with lov- 
ing tenderness we remember his 
retreat across the Jerseys with three 
thousand ragged, shoeless followers, 
and pressed by the vast legions of 
the enemy. We love to think of him 
with unshaken courage leading a 
handful of men across the freezing 
turbulent waters of the Delaware, 
■ that he might strike one blow for his 
country. We love to think of him 
cheering his suffering and disheart- 
ened little band at Valley Forge. 
Washington on his knees in the thick 
forests around his encampment there, 
was a sublimer spectacle than Wash- 
ington in the Presidential chair. 

Now this unmoved and immovable 
constancy under misfortunes which 
so remarkably distinguished the great 
Virginian, was exhibited everywhere 
during the late contest in the State 
where he was born, where he died, 
and where he was buried. There was 
not a city, town, village, hamlet, or 
country residence that did not mani- 
fest it. We need not go, to find it, to 
Johnston, contending against double 
or thrice his numbers ; or to Lee, con- 
testing inch by inch with still more 

formidable odds ; we need only seek a 
Virginia dwelling anywhere, whether 
mansion or hut, and there you would 
see that the mantle of Washington 
had dropped from his chariot of jfire, 
without receiving any stain of earth 
by the fall. Talk to the aged father, 
whose only son fills a bloody grave, or 
with the venerable mother or the 
sister of the lost one, and you will 
perceive that the unyielding firmness 
of Washington dwells with his people 
to this hour. The philosopher has 
said, "When you find a true man, 
grapple him to your heart with hooks 
of steel." The Virginians deserve to 
be grappled to the heart of the Union 
and held when there by cords of love. 
No other cords can bind them. 

Let us next look at the self-deny- 
ing character of Washington. He 
was ever ready to forget himself for 
his country. He was willing to hold 
office if the public welfare would be 
thereby promoted. He was willing 
to retire if the national interest would 
thus be secured. At the time of the 
Gates-Conway conspiracy to remove 
him from the command of the army, 
he wrote to a gentleman in New-Eng- 
land, who had expressed some 
anxiety lest he should resign, " The 
same ^Jrincijjles that led me to embark 
in the opiyosition to the ar'bltrary 
claims of Great Britain^ operate with 
additional force at this day ; nor is 
it my desire to withdraw my services 
while they are considered of import- 
ance in the present contest. . . . 
I have said, and I still do say, that 
there is not an officer in the services 
of the United States that icould re- 
turn to the sweets of domestic life 
loitJi- more heartful jvy than I would. 
But I would have this declaration ac- 
companied by these sentiments, that . 
while the public is satisfied with my 
endeavors, I mean not to shrink from 
the cause ; but the moment that her 
voice, not that of faction, calls upon 
me to resign, I shall do it with as 
much pleasure as ever the wearied 
traveler returned to rest." When 
Stonewall Jackson, of Virginia, was 
written to by the Board of Visitors 
of the Military Institute, with refer- 




ence to resuming the duties of his 
professorship, he replied in a letter, 
breathing the spirit and almost re- 
peating the words of his great coun- 

Hdqrs. Fiest Brigade, 2d Corps, 
Army of the Potomac, 
Centkeville, October 22, 1861. 

Gentlemen : Your circular of the 19th 
instant has been received, and / heg 
leave to say in reply that I only took the 
field from a sense of duty, and that the 
obligations that brought me into service 
still retain me in it, and ivill probably 
continue to do so as long as the war shall 
last. At the close of hostilities I desire 
to resume the duties of my chair, and 
accordingly respectfully request that, if 
consistent with the interests of the In- 
stitute, the action of the Board of Visit- 
ors may be such as to admit of my return 
upon the restoration of peace. 

Eespectfully, your obedient servant, 
T. J. Jackson, 
Prof, of Nat. and Exp. Philosophy, etc., 

y. M. I. 

To General Wm. H. Richardson and 
General T. Hatmosd, Committee. 

The admirable temper of Washing- 
ton in this time of severe trial, when 
his country's cavise seemed desperate 
and his own reputation blasted, may 
be best judged by an extract from 
a letter of his to Patrick Henry : 
" That I ma,y have erred in using 
the means in my power for accom- 
plishing the objects of the arduous, 
exalted station with which I am 
honored, I can not doubt ; nor do I 
wish my conduct to te exempt from 
the reprehension it may deserve. 
Error is the p)ortion of humanity., 
and to censure it., whether committed 
ty this or that p)ul)lic character., is 
the p)rerogative of freemen.'''' 

The italics are our own. The 
language rises into the sublime. 
The self-forgetting "Washington, at 
the bar of envy and malice, is echo- 
ing back, after eighteen hundred 
years, the sentiments of the un- 
selfish man of Nazareth before a still 
more cruel and malignant tribunal, 
" If I have spoken evil, bear witness 
of the evil ; but if well, why smitest 

thou me?" History continually re- 
peats itself. The true patriot, the 
real statesman,, the undoubtedly 
brave warrior, is never afraid of a 
full investigation of his conduct, 
whether by a free press or a free 
people. At this period in the history 
of the Father of his country, forged 
letters were written and published 
in London, purporting to eOme from 
him, and manifesting disloyalty to 
the American cause. For twenty 
years he treated the vile fabrication 
with the most contemptuous silence, 
and it was not until his final retire- 
ment from oflflce that he filed away 
in the Department of State a solemn 
denial of the authenticity of these 
documents. (See Everett's Life of 
Washington.) It was the reticence 
of a great soul, conscious of its own 
purity of motives. But when we 
admire the dignified silence of the 
noble Virginian, who was oblivious 
of self and regardless of personal 
popularity, while his mind was ever 
keenly and sensitively alive to the 
slightest mterests of his fellow-citi- 
zens, let us not forget that three at 
least of his countrymen have ex- 
hibited the same self-abnegation. 
When attempts were made in the 
winter of 1861-'62, after Jackson's ex- 
pedition to Hancock, to alienate the 
afifections of his own troops from him 
and to poison the mind of the Execu- 
tive, his silence was as profound and 
as contemptuous as that of Washing- 
ton himself. After Lee's campaign 
in Western Virginia, hard and bitter 
things were said of him by some of 
the newspapers of that day, led off 
by a portion of the Richmond press ; 
but he opened not his lips. 

When Johnston fell under the 
executive ban, and a howl was raised 
against him by a partisan press, 
how sublimely great was the silence 
of the man! It was necessary for 
the good of our cause that the ad- 
ministration should be supported to 
the last, and his defense might 
weaken Lhat support. It required 
no common exercise of self-denial to 
bear si^iositive wrong rather than in- 
flict 2i,2)ossiMe harm upon the country ; 




but the patriotism of the great soldier 
was equal to the effort. 

Another act of self-abnegation on 
the part of General Johnston has 
won the admiration of the British 
people. When sent out, after the 
battle of Murfreesboro, to investigate 
the cause of the alleged dissatisfac- 
tion with the Southern commander, 
and to take command himself if he 
found the grounds of complaint were 
real, he had the magnanimity as well 
as delicacy to decline his own ad- 
vancement under these extraordinary 
conditions, and he did what he could 
to strengthen the hands of General 
Bragg. (History will gratefully re- 
cord how the latter clung to his gen- 
erous friend, when executive favor 
had been withdrawn from him.) 

Let the world sing its peans in 
praise of the unselfishness of Wash- 
ington ; but let it not overlook the 
equal self-denial of the three illus- 
trious countrymen of Washington. 

Now, here, we would notice a re- 
markable correspondence between 
the military views of the Father of 
his country and the last of the three 
great Virginians named above. It 
has been quite common of late years 
to deny to Washington the credit of 
being a great captain. It has been 
often said that he was no military 
genius — that his campaigns were 
failures and his battles defeats. His 
biographers, with all their zeal in his 
behalf and enthusiastic admiration of 
his character, have not removed this 
unfavorable impression from the 
minds of some. 

Now military genius is not ex- 
hibited merely in splendid achieve- 
ments and wonderful victories. The 
genius of Napoleon never shone so 
brightly as on his last disastrous 

But the great captain is the man who 
thoroughly understands his position, 
who thoroughly knows the temper 
and character of his own troops, the 
qualities of the troops opposed to him, 
and the capacity of their leader ; who 
knows how to husband his own re- 
sources and to destroy those of his 
enemy ; who knows when to fight and 

when to retreat ; who knows how to 
discriminate between what is essential 
to insure eventual success and what 
is only of transient and factitious im- 

Now, Washington understood all 
this. He knew the military situa- 
tion, the qualities of his own troops, 
and those of the British. He was 
never misled by any will-o-wisps to 
attempt brilliant strokes that would 
end in no permanent good. (How 
the soul sickened in June, 1863, at the 
brilliant shouts over some petty suc- 
cesses at Winchester, while the great 
heart of the Confederacy at Vicks- 
burgh was in its last throb of agony I 
That strength was idly spent in 
beating the air, which if concen- 
trated in one vigorous blow would 
have insured success.) Washing- 
ton understood what our Confede- 
rate President and most of our gen- 
erals did not — the absolute nothing- 
ness of losing a position in compa- 
rison with losing an army. We had 
vast territory and but few men. The 
loss of a portion of the soil might 
entail suffering, but the loss of sol- 
diers brought necessarily irretrieva- 
ble ruin. 

Washington under similar condi- 
tions, fully appreciated his position. 
He fought the battle of Long Island, 
to save New-York, but he did not 
allow himself to be shut up in that 
city. He fought at Brandywine to 
save Philadelphia; but losing the 
battle, he saved his army. He was 
entirely opposed to the policy, so 
fatal to the Confederate cause, of al- 
lowing troops to be shut up and be- 
sieged for the sake of holding any 
position, however important. 

Charleston would have been cap- 
tured, but not the army of Lincoln, 
had his wise policy been acted upon. 
He wrote after hearing that Charles- 
ton bar could not be defended : "The 
impracticability of defending the bar, 
I fear, amounts to the loss of the 
town and garrison. At this distance, 
it is impossible to judge for you.' I 
have the greatest confidence in Gen- 
eral Lincoln's prudence, but it really 
appears to me that the propriety of 




defending the town depended upon 
the probability of defending the bar ; 
and tliat when this ceased., the at- 
tempt ought to have teen relinquished. 
In this, however, I suspend a defini- 
tive judgment, and wish you to con- 
sider what I say as confidential." 

Marshall adds that this letter did 
not ari'ive in time to influence the 
conduct of the besieged. This letter 
was written, it is supposed, to the 
Governor of South-Carolina. 

Had Washington been the defender 
of Richmond, he would have aban- 
doned it a year before its capture, 
and the Confederate flag might still 
be floating all over the South. God 
has willed it otherwise, and we sub- 
mit to his will, believing him best 
able to govern the affairs of his own 

Whatever opinion the world may 
have of Washington as a military 
leader, it is sufficient in our mind to 
mark him as one of the great gen- 
erals of history, that he made no 
such dreadful mistakes as we poor 
rebels did about the value of posi- 
tions. Now, General Johnston had 
precisely the same views on this sub- 
ject. "Let the place go, and save 
the garrison," was his motto from the 
beginning to the end of the war. 
He retreated from Harper's Perry, 
but he kept his troops in hand to aid 
in strildng a heavy blow at Manassas. 

He withdrew his army from the 
cul-de-sac at Yorktown, much to 
McClellan's chagrin and mortifica- 
tion. But then he turned upon his 
pursuers with terrible effect at Wil- 
liamsburgh, at Eltham's Landing, and 
at Seven Pines. He had given the 
necessary order for a retreat from 
Vicksburgh ; but Pemberton unfor- 
tunately thought that the position 
and not the army was^he important 
thing, and Vicksburgh fell and the 
the troops were all captured. He re- 
treated from Dalton ; but he inflicted 
day by day such heavy losses upon 
Sherman that the disparity between 
their numbers had almost ceased to 
exist. He was decried for his re- 
treats, just as Washington was for 
his. But time has already wrought 

a mighty change in men's opinions, 
and we believe that history will en- 
roll the name of Joseph E. Johnston 
beside that of the man he so much 
resembled in mind and character. 

Before we leave the subject of 
magnanimity, we would mention 
with pleasure a remarkable instance 
of it in the people of New-England. 
John Adams of Massachusetts recom- 
mended George Washington, of Vir- 
ginia, to be made commander-in-chief 
of the American armies. John Adams, 
on succeeding Washington as Presi- 
dent of the United States, had such 
an appreciation of Washington's 
judgment in the choice of a cabinet 
that he made no change in it. Col- 
onel John Brooks, of Massachusetts, 
afterward Governor of that State, 
stood so firmly and so nobly by 
Washington at the time of the New- 
burgh Mutiny, that the great Virgin- 
ian was affected even to tears.. 

Edmund Everett, of Massachusetts, 
went all over the land delivering lec- 
tures in praise of the character, 
abilities and services of Washington. 
Gilbert Stuart, of Rhode Island, ex- 
hausted his skill as an artist in giv- 
ing us the best, the most life-like 
and truthful portrait of Washington. 
Jared Sparks, of Connecticut, has 
been the most diligent collector of 
his orders and letters. The poets of 
New-England have sung the sweetest 
hymns to his memory, their orators 
have pronounced his most eloquent 
eulogies, their painters have executed 
his best portraits, and their men of 
wealth have been the most careful 
to adorn their studios, their offices, 
and their parlors with the finest mar- 
ble busts of this remarkable man. 
Now this is real magnanimity in that 
people, for never did mortal man 
speak more contemptuously of others 
than he did of them. We trust that 
the same keen perception of great- 
ness in Washington maybe extended 
to his countrym.en, and that this may 
do much toward allaying the bitter- 
ness engendered by civil war. 

It has been the rare fortune of 
Washington to be idolized at home. 



honored and revered abroad. No 
name in history has been so much 
praised, none has been so Httle cen- 
sured. The emperor and the serf, 
the aristocrat and the plebeian, the 
man of letters and the ignorant Isoor, 
the wise and the foolish, the good 
and the wicked, have vied with each 
other in homage to his memory. 
There is nothing so remarkable in 
the life of the man as this universal 
tribute to his great traits of charac- 
ter, by all classes and ranks of so- 
ciety, by men of every shade of 
opinion and of every possible differ- 
ence in moral qualities. Does not this 
show that the image of the Maker on 
the human soul, though sadly de- 
faced is hot altogether obliterated, 
even in the vilest person, and that 
true excellence will always be re- 
cognized and esteemed ? 

Have passion and prejudice, envy, 
malice, and all uncharitableness, pow- 
er for only a limited period to black- 
en the character and stain the repu- 
tation of the truly great and good ? 

Jealousy of his growing influence 
and hatred of his pure character 
nailed to the cross the Redeemer of 
mankind, but there is no spot on 
earth where his memory is not now 
cherished. Washington had in his 
day bitter, malignant enemies, who 
reviled and slandered him. Mists 
and fogs may obscure the sun for a 
season, but there will come a time 
of meridian bi'ightness and glory. 
Slander and detraction can no longer 
obscure the fame of AYashington, 
which but grows brighter and bright- 
er to the perfect day. "Ah! gentle- 
men," said the j^oung conqueror of 
Italy to a party of Americans, 
" Washington can never be otherwise 
than well. The measure of his fame 
is full. Posterity will reverence, will 
talk of him as the founder of a great 
empire when my name shall be lost 
in the vortex of revolution." Napo- 
leon preserved to the last moment of 
his life this profound regard for the 
great Virginian. When '.he news of 
Washington's death reached him he 
directed Fontanes to deliver an eulogy 
upon his life and character. Appre- 

ciation by so true a judge of great- 
ness as Napoleon is in itself no mean 
proportion of fame. 

But the delirious wretches of the 
French Revolution mingled his name 
with that of the Goddess of Liberty 
in their wild and bacchanal songs. 
Thus, the most eloquent panegyric 
probably ever penned upon the char- 
acter of our Saviour is from the wick- 
ed infidel Rousseau. 

Macaulay closes his eulogy upon 
his favorite hero, John Hampden, in 
these words : " It was when the 
vices and ignorance which the old 
tyranny had generated threatened the 
new freedom with destruction, that 
England missed that sobriety, that 
self-command, that perfect sound- 
ness of judgment, that perfect recti- 
tude of intention, to which the histo- 
ries of revolutions furnish no paral- 
lel, or furnish a parallel in AYashing- 
ton alone." 

The great essayist and historian 
could understand the lofty soul and 
splendid achievements of the father 
of his country. But there has been 
many a tenth-rate Fourth of July 
orator who has been just as earnest 
in his admiration. Guizot spoke of 
Washington as "the most fortunate 
and the most virtuous of all the men 
of history." 

According to the song of Burns, 
the Prince Regent "rattled dice with 
Charlie ;" but the dissolute Charles 
James Fox (the Charlie of the poet) 
has been just as enthusiastic as any 
of the rest in praise of him who from 
boyhood scorned every species of 
vice. "A character of virtues so 
happily tempered by one another," 
said the gifted but dissipated states- 
man, "and so wholly unalloyed by 
any vices, is hardly to be found on 
the pages of history." We have been 
disposed to regard Lord Brougham as 
one of the purest of men, as well as 
one of the greatest of British orators 
and statesmen. But Lord Brougham 
(as quoted by Mr. Everett) has left 
this magnificent tribute to our coun- 
tryman : " How grateful the relief 
which the friend of mankind, the 
lover of virtue, experiences when. 




turning from the contemplation of 
such a character, his eye rests upon 
the greatest man of our own or of 
any age, the only one upon whom an 
epithet, so thoughtlessly lavished by 
men, may be innocently and justly 

Lord Byron, whose genius can not 
redeem his crimes and folly, has 
given us two much admired stanzas 
in eulogy of our own Washington : 

" Great men hare always scorned great recom- 
penses : 

Epaminondas saved his Thebes, and died 

Not leaving even his funeral expenses. 

George Washington had thanks and naught 

Except the all-cloudless gloryj (which few 
men's is) 

To free his country." 

And on another occasion he sang : 

" Can tjTants but by tyi'ants conquered be, 
Nor Freedom find no champion and no chUd, 
Such as Columbia saw arise when she 
Sprung forth a Pallas, armed and undefiled ; 
Or must such minds be nourished in the wild, 
Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar 
Of cataracts, where nursing nature smiled 
On infant Washington ? JTas earth no more 
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no 
such shore?" 

We find in a cotemporary paper 
another tribute from Lord Brougham 
to Washington in the installation ad- 
dress which he delivered to the Uni- 
versity of Edinburgh. This is so 
just and so thoroughly appreciative 
of his character, that we can not 
refrain from giving it also : "In 
Washington we may contemplate 
every excellence, military and civil, 
applied to the service of his country 
and of mankind — a triumphant war- 
rior, unshaken in confidence when 
the most sanguine had a right to 
despair ; a successful ruler in all the 
difficulties of a course wholly untried 
— directing the formation of a new 
government for a great people, the 
first time so rash an experiment had 
ever been tried by man — voluntarily 
and unostentatiously retiring from 
supreme power with the veneration 
of all parties, of all nations, of all 
mankind, that the rights of man might 
be conserved, and that his example 
might never be appealed to by vulgar 
tyrants. It will be the duty of the 
historian and the sage, in all ages, to 

VOL. I. — NO. II. 

omit no occasion of commemorating 
this illustrious man, and until time 
shall be no more, will a test of lyrog- 
ress which our race has made in wis- 
dom and in virtue, te defined from 
the 'ceneration paid to the immortal 
name of Washington.'''' 

This " test of progress " the United 
States in every section has nobly tes- 
tified by the universal " veneration 
paid to the immortal name of Wash- 
ington." We would be ashamed, 
too, to harbor the thought that there 
was any portion of our common coun- 
try in which a narrow prejudice 
would not allow a single individual 
to admire similar qualities to those 
of Washington, whenever and wher- 
ever found. 

But we have seen that the country- 
men of Washington of the present 
day are not behind him in those 
great qualities, which the world so 
much admires in him. The great 
State which gave him birth, and gave 
them birth, may proudly point to 
her jewels and challenge any nation 
to show purer and brighter. She 
will not shrink from the comparison 
with England herself, whose eldest 
daughter she is, and whom she most 
nearly resembles in mind and char- 

When England pronounces the 
names of her Marlborough, her Wel- 
lington, her Nelson, and her Have- 
lock, Virginia echoes back, Washing- 
ton, Johnston, Lee, and Jackson. 
When England writes upon the white 
scrolls of fame the names of her 
mighty statesmen and orators, Pitt 
and Fox, Burke and Sheridan, Can- 
ning and Brougham, Virginia enrolls, 
in like manner, the names of Jeffer- 
son and Henry, Madison and Mon- 
roe, Marshall and Randolph, Clay 
and Wise. 

When England shows her laurel- 
wreathed Tennyson, Virginia points 
tearfully to her sinning but no less 
gifted son, Edgar A. Poe. 

When England claims that the 
ponderous of her illustrious 
divines have taught theology to the 
world, Virginia meekly answers that 
the works of her Alexanders, father 


English Farmers. 


and sons, have been translated into 
all the tongues of Christendom. 
When England boasts that her im- 
proved agricultural implements take 
the precedence in every country, 
Virginia proudly points to her Mc- 
Cormick, whose reapers gather in the 
grain of every clime. When the 
poets of England sing the praises of 
Florence Nightingale, the incense of 
a million of grateful hearts rises in 
homage to the daughters of Virginia, 
each of whom was a Florence Night- 
ingale in the dark death-struggle of 
our Confederacy. Oh! could these 
noble women but know how their 
tender care had alleviated and so- 
laced, not merely the pain of the 
wounded and dying, but had also 
sent the only comfort to the hearts of 
wives, mothers, daughters, and sis- 
ters ; and could they know how the 
broken-hearted, who sank under 
their bereavements, died imploring 
God's blessing upon them, they 
would feel rich and blessed indeed, 
though poverty be their portion, and 
every earthly comfort be denied 

Ticknor, of Georgia, the true poet, 
has eloquently eulogized, in the lines 
below, the noble qualities of the sons 
of Virginia. But the prayers and 
grateful tears of mourners all over 
the South speak the praises of her 
daughters in language to which 
words can do no justice. 


The knightliest of the knightly race, 

Who, since the days of old, 
Have kept the lamp of cliivalry, 

Alight in hearts of gold ; 
The kindliest of the kindly band, 

Who, rarely hating ease, 
Yet rode with Spotswood round the land, 

And Raleigh round the seas ; 

Who climbed the blue Virginian hills, 

Against embattled foes. 
And planted there, in valleys fair. 

The lily and the rose ; 
Whose fragrance lives in many lands, 

Whose beauty stars the earth. 
And lights the hearths of many homes. 

With loveliness and worth — 

We thought they slept ! the sons who kept 

The names of noble sires. 
And slumbered while the darkness crept 

Around their vigil fires. 
But still the Golden Horse-shoe knights 

Their Old Dominion keep. 
Whose foes have found enchanted ground. 

But not a knight asleep. 

D.H. H. 


The taste for rural pursuits per- 
vades all classes of the English pop- 
ulation, from the royal family down 
to the humblest day laborer. George 
III. rejoiced in the sobriquet of 
Farmer George, and wrote for an 
agricultural magazine over the signa- 
ture of Ralph Robinson. This mag- 
azine honored by the royal contribu- 
tor was called the Annals of Agri- 
culture, and edited by Arthur Young, 
so well known as an enlightened 
agriculturist. Arthur Young was 
the son of a prebendary of Canter- 
bury, and so great was his influence 
in improving the agriculture of Eng- 
land that his name will always be 
mentioned with gratitude in every 
record of British farming. 

In a very interesting article, in the 
London Quarterly Review, entitled 

The Progress of English Agricul- 
ture, (from which we will copy 
largely,), we have a fine sketch of the 
progress of successive eminent agri- 
culturists since and during the time 
of Arthur Young. Foremost among 
the men he helped to make known 
was Robert Bakewell, of Dishley, "a 
man of genius in his way, for he laid 
down the principles of a new art. 
He originated the admirable breed of 
Leicester sheep which still maintains 
a high reputation throughout Europe 
and America ; and although he failed 
in establishing his breed of ' long- 
horn cattle ' and of ' black cart 
horses,' he taught others how to suc- 
ceedy And the success of English 
farmers is marvelous to us. The 
lands of the Old AVorld yield in a 
way which appears almost fabulous 


English Farmers. 


to us of the New. England is al- 
most a century ahead of us in the 
general practice of agriculture. In 
Robert Bakewell's day, the j^eoman 
farmer had not yet removed to a par- 
lor, and farmer's families had not yet 
been "bitten by the mad dog of gen- 
tility," and Bakewell sat in the huge 
chimney-corner of a long kitchen, 
hung round with the dried joints of 
his finest oxen, preserved as speci- 
mens of proportion. He was a tall, 
stout, broad-shouldered man, of a 
ruddy brown complexion, clad in a 
brown, loose coat, and scarlet waist- 
coat, leather breeches and top-boots. 
Here he entertained Russian princes, 
French and German royal dukes, 
British peers and farmers, and sight- 
seers of every degree. Here he 
talked on his favorite subject, breed- 
ing, with earnest yet playful enthu- 
.siasm — here, utterly indifferent to 
vulgar traditional prejudice, he enun- 
ciated those axioms which must 
ever be the cardinal rules for the im- 
provers of live stock. Whoever 
were his guests, they were all obliged 
to conform to his rules. Breakfast 
at eight o'clock, dinner at one, sup- 
per at nine, bed at eleven o'clock. 
At half-past ten o'clock, let who 
would be there, he knocked out his 
last pipe. 

The principles which he laid down 
were these : Always select animals of 
the form and temperament which 
showed signs of producing most fat 
and muscle. In an ox, he said, " all was 
useless that was not beef;" and he 
sought, hj pairing the best speci- 
mens, to make the shoulders compa- 
ratively small, the hind quarters large, 
and to produce a body truly circular, 
with as short legs as possible, upon 
the plain principle that the value lies 
in the barrel and not in the legs. He 
aimed at securing also a small head, 
small neck, and small bones. In 
sheep, his object was mutton, not 
wool, and he disregarded mere size. 
Dr. Parkinson told Paley that Bake- 
well had the power of fattening his 
sheep in whatever part of the body 
he chose, directing it to the leg, 
neck, or shoulder, as he thought 

proper, and "this," continued Park- 
inson, "is the great prollem of his 
art." "It's a lie, sir," replied Paley, 
"and that's the solution of it." 
Parkinson, however, was not mis- 
taken as to the result of Bakewell's 
method, although he was as to the 
mode of accomplishing it. The great 
phj^siologist confirmed Bakewell's 
views in one essential particular, for 
he asserted that, in the human sub- 
ject, small bones were usually accom- 
panied b}^ corpulence. Mr. Clive, the 
celebrated surgeon, also came to the 
conclusion that extremely large bones 
indicated a defect in nutrition. Be- 
fore Bakewell's daj-, large animals, 
of whatever shape, were the most 
higlilj'' prized. At a fair, at Ipswich, 
one or two enlightened persons sug- 
gested that a premium should be 
presented to Arthur Young, for in- 
troducing the South-Down sheep into 
Suffolk ; and a farmer then deter- 
mined to put forth the counter pro- 
position, that Mr. Young was an 
enemy to the countrj'-, for " endea- 
voring to change the best breed in 
England for a race of rats.'''' 

We smile now in reading that in 
1806, in spite of Mr. Coke's toast, 
"Small in size and great in value," 
a premium was awarded to the 
largest ox. In 1856, a little Devon 
ox, of an egg-like shape, which is the 
modern beau ideal, gained the Smith- 
field gold medal in competition with 
gigantic Short-horns and Herefords 
of elephantine proportions. They 
now want no animal which carries on 
his carcass more threepenny than 
ninepennj'' beef. 

Lord Townshend was another great 
agricultural improver, "who origin- 
ated practices which increased the 
produce of the land a hundred fold, 
and of which the world continues to 
reap the benefit at this hour." He 
applied marl to the sands of Norfolk, 
and converted boundless wilds of 
rabbit warrens and sheep walks into 
rich grain-bearing soil. By the aid 
of marl. Young estimated that " three 
or four hundred thousand acres of 
wastes had been turned into gardens." 
But marling would not of itself have 


English Farmers. 


reclaimed the Norfolk deserts. Tur- 
nips were so zealously advocated by 
Lord Townshend that he got the 
name of Turnip Townshend. Pope 
speaks of " all Townshcnd's turnips" 
in one of his imitations of Horace. 

This crop, he had the sagacity to 
sec, icas the parent of aU future 
crops. It and other roots are like the 
tortoise of Indian mythology, the 
basis upon which rests the money- 
bringing grain crop. 

"Without winter food, little stock 
can be kept ; without stock, manure 
could not be made ; and without ma- 
nure, there can not be much of anj'' 
thing else. A hundred years ago, 
hay was almost the only winter food 
in England, and all the flesh gained by 
the grass in summer was lost in win- 
ter, or barely maintained. " Fresh 
meat for six months of the year was 
a luxury only enjoyed by the weal- 
thy. Even first-class farmers would 
salt down an old cow in the autumn, 
which, with flitches of fat bacon, sup- 
plied their families with meat until 
the spring. 

But after the turnip cultivation was 
fairly introduced a full supply of win- 
ter food was obtained, and it is no 
wonder that they excited an enthusi- 
asm similar to that of Lord Monboddo, 
who on returning home after a circuit, 
went to look at a field of them by 
candle-light. As the turnip was the 
parent of all future crops, so the farm- 
er devoted all his manure to produc- 
ing a full turnip crop. 

Francis, Duke of Bedford, another 
great Norfolk landowner, succeeded to 
the mantle of Lord Townshend. He 
was followed by Mr. Coke of Ilolk- 
ham, afterward Earl of Leicester, 
who toward the close of last and the 
first of the present century headed 
agricultural reform. 

The princely mansion at Holkham, 
erected from the designs of Kent, 
bears an inscription which imports 
that it was built in the midst of a 
desert tract, and its noble founder was 
accustomed to say at once sadly and 
jocularly, that his nearest neighbor 
was the king of Denmark. 

Mr. Coke graphically described the 

condition of his estate by the remark, 
" That he found two rabbits quarrel- 
ing for one blade of grass." 

Ilis first care was to apply the 
existing methods to fertilizing his 
barren wilds ; his second was to im- 
prove on the prevailing practice ; his 
third, like a true philanthropist, was 
to persuade his neighbors to follow 
his example. For thirty j'ears both 
landlords and tenants were content 
to follow in the track which Lord 
Townshend had marked out for them 
— a track which led to such wealth 
that it is no wonder they were not 
tempted to further experiments. The 
Earl of Leicester roused them from 
their lethargy, and what Young calls a 
' second revolution ' commenced. The 
great evil of the times was that the 
farmers had little or no communication 
Avith each other. They were almost 
as much fixtures as their houses, and 
what was done on one side of the 
hedge was scarcely known upon the 
other. The Earl of Leicester institut- 
ed his annual sheep-shearings, to 
which he invited crowds of guests of 
all ranks. Under the guise of a gi- 
gantic festival, it was an agricultural 
school of the most efiective kind, for 
the social benevolence engendered by 
such splendid hospitality disarmed 
prejudice, and many who would have 
looked with disdain upon new breeds 
of stock, new-fangled implements, and 
new modes of tillage, received them 
favorably when they came recom- 
mended by their genial host. Hot 
politician as he was, according to the 
fashion of those days, his ojjponents 
forgot the partisan in ihe agricul- 

When Cobbett, who had no liking 
for him, rode through Norfolk in 1821, 
he acknowledged that the people 
spoke of him as children would speak 
of a father. The distinguished visit- 
ors who came from other counties 
to the sheep-shearing, carried home 
with them lessons which had an elfect 
upon farming throughout the king- 
dom. Excluded by his political opi- 
nions from court favor or office, the 
Earl of Leicester must have found 
abundant compensation in the feudal 


English Farmers. 


state of gatherings at which hundreds 
assembled and were entertained — 
fai'ming, hunting, or shooting, in the 
mornings — after dinner discussing 
agricultural subjects, whether the 
South-Down or new Leicester were 
the better sheep — whether the Devon 
or the old Norfolk was the most pro- 
fitable ox. He formed an intimacy 
with Arthvir Young, and acted upon 
three of his maxims, which all South- 
ern planters in our new system of 
labor would do well to remember — 
First, that a truly good tenant can not 
be too much favored, or a bad one 
have his rent raised too high. Second, 
that good culture is another name for 
much labor. Third, that great farm- 
ers genei'ally become rich farmers. 
By these methods he raised his rental 
to more tliousancls a year than it 
was hundreds when he inherited his 
estate, and had enriched a numerous 
tenantry into the bargain. 

No discovery, perhaps, was made 
by the Earl of Leicester in agricul- 
ture, but he showed a surprising sa- 
gacity in singling out what was good 
in ideas which were not received by 
the farming public at large, in com- 
bining them into a system, and per- 
severing in them until they prevail- 
ed. He soon taught his tenants that 
valuable as was manure, they had 
better keep animals which would at 
the same time make a return in flesh 
and fat. Lord Leicester's steward, 
Blaikie, made a suggestion to Mr. 
John Hudson, of Castle Acre, which 
led that enterprising person to try a 
new experiment in fattening sheep. 
He ventured to supply his young 
wethers with sliced turnips and pur- 
chased oil-cake. Such was the suc- 
cess of his experiment, that to Mr. 
Coke's astonishment, when he asked 
to see the produce of his tup, he 
found they had been sent to market 
fat, twelve months before the usual 
time. Yet all John Hudson's neigh- 
bors, including his own father, who 
was also a man of agricultural 
progress, prophesied his ruin from 
his extravagance in buying food for 
sheep, which was regarded in much 
the same light in farming as for a 

young spendthrift to go for money 
to the Jews. Bought food would 
have been wasted on the former 
slow-growing species ; but applied to 
the improved stock bred on Bake- 
well's principles, it created a demand, 
not only for tups from Sussex, steers 
from the Quantock Hills, and oil-cake 
from Germany, but for improved im- 
plements and machinery — the turnip- 
slicer, the cake-crusher, the chaff-cut- 
ter, and the bone-mill, as well as the 
drill, horse-hoe, and improved plows 
and harrows. The perfecting of the 
South-Down sheep by Mr. Jonas 
Webb, was due to one of those triv- 
ial circumstances which so frequent- 
ly influence the events of the world 
His grandfather was a breeder of 
Norfolk rams, and it was one of the 
amusements of the old gentleman, at 
his annual sales, to set his grandsons 
to ride on his rams, holding fast by 
their huge' horns. It was during the 
races on these sharp-backed animals 
that Jonas determined to breed sheep 
with better saddles of mutton, when 
he became a man. A lean, hurdle- 
backed, black-faced Norfolk ram, and 
the beautiful firkin-bodied South- 
Down, for which Mr. AVebb refused 
five hundred guineas at the Paris 
Exhibition in 1856, are the two ex- 
tremes — the two mutton marks be- 
tween the boyhood and manhood of 
the same individual. Nothing but a 
Norfolk sheep could have found a 
living on the Norfolk wilds — nothing 
but the roots, artificial grasses, grain, 
and oil-cake of modern days could 
have raised the Babraham Downs to 
such marvelous perfection. But to 
return to Mr. John Hudson, whose 
name is familiar to all English and 
most foreign agriculturists. In 1822 
he entered upon his now celebrated 
farm of Castle Acre, of 1200 acres, 
which is a fair specimen of the Nor- 
folk lands. At that period the only 
portable manure was rape-cake, which 
cost £13 a ton, and did not produce 
any visible effect upon the crops for 
a month. The whole live stock con- 
sisted of 200 sheep and 40 cattle of 
the old Norfolk breed. He adopted 
what was then the new, now the old 


English Farmers. 


Norfolk system— that is to say, 250 
acres pasture, 300 wheat, 300 barley, 
(or in dear years 600 wheat,) 300 
roots, and 30'0 seeds, the rest being 
gardens and coverts. On these 1200 
acres, he now maintains 10 dairy 
cows, 36 cart-horses, a flock of 400 
breeding ewes, and he annually fat- 
tens and sells 3000 sheep and 250 
Short-horns, Devons, and Herefords. 
His root crops average from 25 to 35 
tons per acre, and his wheat 48 
bushels per acre, barley 56 bushels. 
Of the seeds, the clover is mown for 
hay, and the trefoil and white clover 
are fed down by the sheep. The pur- 
chased food given to his cattle and 
sheep amounts to £2000. Guano, 
nitrate of soda, and superphosphate 
of lime amounts in addition to £1000. 
Wages absorb from £2600 to £3000 
a year. Seven or eight wagon-loads 
of farm-yard manure are plowed in 
on land intended for roots, besides 
about thirty shillings' worth per acre 
of superphosphate of lime drilled in 
with the turnip-seed ; while wheat 
has a top-dressing of 1 cwt. of guano, 
^ cwt. of nitrate of soda, and 2 
cwt. of salt, mixed with earth and 
ashes. Xo loeeds are groiPii. The 
turnips are taken up in November, 
and a troop, called by the vile name 
of a "gang," consisting of boys and 
girls under an experienced man, tra- 
verse the ground, forking out and 
burning every particle of twitch or 
thistle. The same gang are called in 
during the progress of the root-crops 
whenever occasion requires, and im- 
mediately after harvest, they go over 
the stubbles with their little three- 
pronged fork, exterminating the 
slightest vestige of a weed. By thus 
weeding in time, the expenses are 
kept down to Is. per acre. 

Lord Berncrs mentioned as recent- 
ly as 1855, that he found in Leices- 
tershire hundreds of acres netted 
over with twitch as thick as a Life- 
guardsman's cane, and studded with 
clumps of thistles like bushes. Such 
neglected land required an expense 
of five pounds to six pounds to put it 
in heart. No such management dis- 
graces the farm of Mr. John Hudson. 

Mr. J. Thomas, of LidlingtonPark, 
farms about eight hundred acres un- 
der the Duke of Bedford. This in- 
telligent cultivator read a paper some 
time since to the Central Farmers' 
Club, in which he stated, with the 
assent of his tenant audience, that it 
was not only j^ossible but advisable 
to reduce the over-fertility of the soil, 
by cultivating two grain-crops in suc- 
cession, a practice which was once 
considered fatal. This over-abund- 
ant fertility of soil produced in his 
turnips "strange, inexplicable dis- 
eases, his barley lay flat on the 
ground by its own weight, and his 
young clover was stifled and killed 
by the lodgment of the barley crop." 

Thus, while Eoman agriculturists, 
with all their garden-like care, were 
tormented by a constantly-increasing 
poverty of soil, we, after ages of crop- 
ping, have arrived at the point of 
over-abundant fertility. Mr. Thomas 
sells about one hundred and fifty 
head of cattle fat and one thousand 
sheep annually, beside keeping a 
choice breeding flock of four hundred 
South-Downs, the result of twenty 
years' care. By these sheep the pro- 
cess of fertihzing is constantly car- 
ried on. The store sheep are allowed 
to eat the turnips from the ground ; 
but for the fattening sheep the tur- 
nips are gathered, topped, tailed, and 
sliced by a boy with a portable ma- 
chine. Thus, feeding by day and 
penned successively over every part 
of the field at night, they prepare 
the land for luxuriant grain-cro))S — 
land naturally so poor that it would 
scarcely feed a family of rabbits. 

According to the latest experience 
the most profitable system is to de- 
vote the farm-yard manure to the 
growth of clover, to eat down the 
clover with folded sheep, and then to 
use the ground fertilized by the roots 
of clover, without home-made ma- 
nure, for cereal crops, assisted by a 
top dressing of guano. This crop is 
followed by roots nourished with 
superphosphate of lime. Good im- 
plements come in aid of good cultiva- 
tion. Mr. Thomas has eight or nine 
of Howard's iron plows — both light 

1866.] Southern Poetry. 105 

and heavy — iron harrows to match No land is here lost by unneces- 
the plows, a cultivator to stir the sary fences ; no fertility is consumed 
earth, a grubber to gather weeds, by weeds ; no time or labor is thrown 
half a dozen drills, manure distribu- away. One crop prepares the way 
tors, and horse-hoes, a clod crusher, for another, and the wheel-plow, un- 
a heavy stone roller, a hay-making der the charge of man or boy, fol- 
machine, and horse-rakes. With ma- lows quick upon the footsteps of the 
chinery no large barn is required in reaper. The sheep stock are kept 
the English climate ; the grain can "^ip to perfection of form by retaining 
remain in the rick until required for only the,best shaped ewe lambs, and 
market. About twenty men and having or buying the best South- 
thirty trained boys, under an aged Down rams, 
chief, are constantly employed. {To he eontinued.) 


The annexed articles are contributions to this Magazine, and have never 
been published before. 

life's fig-leaves. 

Life's Pig-Leaves ! Tell me, are not they 

The outside beauties of our way. 

The pleasant things beneath whose shade 

Our inner spirit-life is laid ? 

I own, they oft give promise fair 

Of fruit which never ripens there ; 

For, though we seek with earnest hope 

Some tiny bud that yet may ope, 

'Tis all in vain, for fruit or flower 

The tree has not suflQcient power ; 

And still the earnest spirit grieves. 

Which seeking fruit finds only leaves. 

When such I meet they call to mind 

The Saviour's warning to mankind; 
" The time for fruit was not yet nigh," 

Then wherefore must the fig-tree die ? 

Nature demanded leaves alone, 

But yet he said in sol-emn tone, 
*' Let no more fruit upon thee grow," 

That he to us this truth might show — 

All life for some good end is given. 

And should bear fruit on earth for heaven ; 

Its leaves and blossoms go for naught, 

Unless they are with promise fraught ; 

No buds for fruit the fig-tree bore. 

Hence it was blighted evermore. 

But unto man still mutely saith, 

A hopeless, barren life is death. 

And so the parable doth teach 

That soul which doth not upward reach 

For light and strength, and earnest strive 

To keep the hope of fruit alive, 

106 Southern Poetry. [June, 

But sits content with leaves instead, 
Is truly to all purpose dead. 
But while life's leaves continue green 
There yet is hope fruit may be seen ; 
A fruit, perchance, that is not found 
Until these leaves fall to the ground, 
Stripped by the storms which rudely tear 
Life's beauties off, and leave it bare. 
But let the tree, perfected now, 
Recall the time when every bough 
Bore only leaves, which close concealed 
The fruit which storms at length revealed ; 
And know before man's life bursts out. 
In ripened fruit its leaves must sprout. 
So, when young lives in leafage stand, 
With patience wait, till God's own hand 
Reveals the buds hid in between. 
Nor grieve that leaves alone are seen ; 
If strength and purpose in us live, 
Some fruit in time each life will give. 

Mrs. Mary B. Clark. 


I've been dreaming, 
That amid a battle storm, 
A woman's slender form 
Lay across my buried arm. 

Idle seeming ; 
For the Flag no longer flying, 
The missing arm is lying 
Where the whip-poor-will is crying 
And the turtle-dove is singing 

On the mountain. 
Sigh on, the cord that bound us 
To these blackened fields around us 
Is severed ! It was spoken. 
When the golden bowl was broken 

At the fountain ! 
Wistful dove with drooping wing, 
Tis meet that thou should'st sing, 
For the gayer birds of Spring 
Have Northward turned the wing — 
Poor birds ! they can not sing 

Down in Dixie ! 

Where the Sunland forest pride 
Woos his snowy-breasted bride. 
Where the sea-birds skim the tide, 
And the moss -draped riverside, 

Gently shaketh 
Grandiflora from her slumber^ 
Beneath the velvet umber, 

1866. Southern Poetry. 107 

And her green-mailed knights in number 

First awaketh ; 
I met a Httle maiden, 
With amber jasmine laden, 
A little sun-kissed maiden, 
Olive-tinted beauty rare, 
With rippling elfin hair, 
Southern type beyond compare, 

Born in Dixie. 

I had loved her long ago. 
But my arm was lost, you know, 
And my wife might shudder, so 
I muttered hoarse and low, 

With emotion, 
"We were young, and wide the world!" 

Then I laughed, my senses whirled, 

■ " She was free !" The sky was turning, 

And my bitter words were burning, 

Earth and ocean — ■ 
Then I swore ! Her eyes were set 
In a mist of liquid jet — ■ 
'May my right hand — " I forget, 
I feel it grasping yet 
My good sword — 'twas a debt 

Freely given ; 
Sword and arm are on the grass 
At Missionary Pass, 
They would not part, alas ! 
Bones pave up the rugged pass 

Up to heaven ! 
Wild madman, to believe, 
She kissed my empty sleeve 

Ere she fled ! 
If she kissed it for my sake, 
How strange a wish to make, 

She were dead ! 


I saw her once again. 
Spoke of a trifling pain „ 
On my heart — a little chain 

Heavy wearing ; 
I had worn it through the war, 
A sixpence " brak in twa" — 

Fool and daring! 
Touched the white palm where it lay, 
The wide world swooned away 

And fell dead ! 
While I dreamed a woman's form 
Leaned upon my missing arm. 
Smiling through the battle storm, 

And her head 
Was vailed and bridal crowned, 
Orange blossoms sprang around, 

108 Southern Poetry. [June, 

From a red ploughed battle-ground 
Far in Dixie ! 

Thank God ! I lived again. 

Her kiss, blessed pain ! 

Filtered through each waking vein ! 

Mine forever ! 
Death, freeze my quivering heart 
If we twain must walk apart, 

Quickly sever ! 
The roses were aflame 
In her cheeks. I breathed her name 
While heaven went and came 

From her eyes ; 
From the clear chased goblets fine, 
In their limpid blue-white shine, 
I quaffed the red-brown wine 

Of melted sighs ! 
Mine evermore to cleave. 
Mine nevermore to leave, 
♦ Wholly mine ! 
Strange the welling flood that rushes 
Down my sleeve in living flushes 

Red and warm ; 
Strange that amid the whirls 
Of the ebon-tinted curls, 
I distinctly feel each finger 
Unclasp the sword to linger 

Round her form ! 
God defends her from all harm, 
With that unseen spirit arm, 

Lost for Dixie ! 

Thou gorgeous Golden Rod, 
With thy swaying, sleepy nod. 
Beneath the winter's sod 

Hiding sober, 
Thou lithely fashioned thing. 
Thy yellow hair may fling 
On the hazy, lazy wing 

Of October ! 
Wake and tender my love-blessing ! 
Where the witching curls are pressing 
Spotless throat in light caressing. 

Nestle tricksy, 
And when thy bloom is rarest. 
Kiss her softly if thou darest, 
And proudly, if thou carest 
To crown thj^self the fairest 

Flower in Dixie! 

180G.] Southern Poetry. 109 

Ah ! the king vine need not bend 
O'er his tea-set to defend 

Its adorning, 
For the timid bounding fawn 
On the spangled emerald lawn 
Does not lightlier greet the dawn 

Of the morning ! 
Topaz-colored buttercup 
Nectar-laden brimming up, 
Fit for the king to sup, 

Now no malice ; 
By my faith, the crowned head 
Might on sweeter sweets be fed 
Could he taste her lips instead 

Of thy chalice ! 
Bright sea-shell swiftly seek 
Deeper rouge, an olive check 

Is abloom ! 
Tangled sweet-brier, thou must fill 
Karer vases to distill 

Thy perfume ! 
It is meet a Southern maiden 
Should with thy sweets be laden, 

Lovely Dixie ! 

sun-loved sky of ours ! 
Call the aromatic flowers. 
To steep their limbs in showers ! 
Early wake the orange bowers 

Bluest sky ! 
Invite the jasmine vine 
Her brightest cups to twine. 
Round and round our wedding shrine ; 
Fill them up with golden wine, 
To the brim in amber shine, 

By and by ! 
Bid the grand old forest pride 
With the sweet-breathed bay beside, 
Launch their white boats on the tide 
That the love-lamps safe may glide 
Down the river for my Bride, 

Won in Dixie ! 
Greenville, Alabama. Miss I. M. Poktku. 


True Thomas the Rymour of Erceldoune 
To his guests once sang in his own old hall, 
By chaunt of his voice in monotone. 
And not with the aid of silvery harp, 

110 Southern Poetry. [June, 

The old Romance of Sir Tristrem the brave, 

Son of Roland Riss and Lady Blanche Floure : 

How first he was seen by the fair Issolte, 

And how she was brought from the Irish shores 

For his uncle, King Mark, a bride to be : 

How neither had known of the love that glowed 

In the heart of each for the other, till 

The hapless hour when together they drank 

From the magical cup which Brengwaine held 

Upon the ship's deck to their thirsty lips. 

He sang not that time, as often before 

His voice in that hall had chaunted the tale ; 

He sang not then of the sin and the shame. 

That like phantom forms kept chasing the twain, 

And bringing to both the breaking of hearts. 

For, ere he had told of the stain of guilt, 

That smirched for aye the fair fame of the twain, 

One sad, beseeching face among his guests 

In its rapid course the minstrel's song staid. 

The tender pity for a soul misled. 

The grace of modesty that would not hear 

Too willingly the tale of woman's shame. 

The charity that wished to throw at least 

Kind silence for a mantle over sin. 

In a moment by the Rymour were read 

In the sweet, gentle imploring that looked 

Out from the lady's f;ist-filling eyes. 

That silent prayer was to him a decree. 

So he ceased to sing the dolorous lay. 

But those hearing him chaunt such liquid tones 

Ever kept in their minds his measured strain ; 

And in the harvest-time often, when leaves 

Both red and yellow carpeted the ground. 

They murmured, as by some noisy stream they strolled, 

The rippling words in which the tale \vas told : 

How huntsman Tristrem in Leonesse ruled, 

How Cornwall, his uncle's fair realm, he freed. 

The princely place he held at Tintagel, 

Where Arthur, purest knight and king, was born ; 

And how he taught the fair Issolte to play 

The noble game of chess, and draw sweet strains. 

As courtly minstrels do, from rote and harp. 

Among the rest, a page of high degree 

Knew best the ancient Rymour's very words ; 

And, wlien his knighthood came by accolade 

And lordly halls his graceful form received, 

Because that many wished to hear the lay. 

He caused a monk to set it down aright : 

And this. The Battle in the Nameless Isle, 

Is taken from the parchment so inscribed : 

And thus in modern speech is told the tale 

That lingers in that fair romance of old. 


It is a bitter winter's morn that greets 
The deeds of which my lay essays to tell. 

1866.] Southern Poetry. Ill 

And the wild waves in white foam-crested sheets 

Are lashing now the base of Tintagel : 
As on the Cornish shore each billow beats, 

It seems to sound for hope a damning knell, 
And ring a requiem to all the bliss 
The natives of the land might once possess. 

The air is keen — the winds are wondrous high, 
The sea-bird's scream is heard above their roar; 

In their lone tower the weeping maids descry, 
In every dusky cloud that seems to soar, 

Sweeping swiftly along the leaden sky. 

The shapes of dead men's shrouds, and nothing more : 

No other form phantasmal can they see. 

Save these, which woeful portents needs must be. 

What heaviness of heart within the land 

Is there to suit in gloom such dismal day ? 
Alas ! in Cornwall few there be of grand 

Or simple ones that do not feel dismay : 
As surf that sobs the spongy old sea-sand 

Is the wild grief to which their hearts are prey, 
A hidden spring of moisture quick to burst 
In sudden tears at pressure of the worst. 

In Tintagel, that castle huge and high, 

Upreared by giants in the olden time, 
With walls of quarrels chequered wizardly 

With tint of cinnabar impressed on hm.e, 
Varied with azure — and forced from the eye 

To vanish by the spell of magic rhyme 
At Lammastide and Christmas time, 'tis said — 
A sight that few, I ween, have witnessed — 

In Castle Tintagel — as I was saying — 
Behold the saddened face of Mark the King ! 

There one may read what dark thoughts are swaying 
A mind bowed down with shame and sorrowing : 

If a single hope be left there straying, 

It, too, no doubt will soon be on the wing. 

Well may he be sad, for faint hearts alone 

Have caused what comes this day to make them moan. 

At his side his counselors gray are sitting, 

But in their heavy faces not a ray 
Of hope is seen, or sign of counsel fitting : 

They too are sunk in deep and dark dismay, 
As desperate mariners, remitting 

All effort to resist the tempest's sway. 
Stand sullenly their captain's form beside 
And watch in apathy the surging tide. 

Moraunt, the giant knight, is come at last — 

This is the head and front of all their pain. 
That he is here to levy tribute vast 

Long claimed — and this is Cornwall's greatest bane — 

112 Southern Poetry. [June, 

By Anguish, Ireland's king. Of gold amassed 

By easy-natured Mark, Moraunt is fain 
To urge three hundred pounds in payment first, 
In which fair sum the kingdom is amerced. 

The sanae in silver,' and the same in tin, 

The lifeless pledges for their faith complete : 
And were this all, little the wailing din 

We hear, of sympathy from me would meet ; 
But, disaster doubtless due to sin ! 

Submission to the tribute, at the feet 
Of Moraunt, forces them as slaves to place 
Three hundred youths and maidens of their race. 

Oh I many, many hearts are mourning now 
Parting so dread — such fearful banishment : 

On their children's necks tender mothers bow, 
Praying that they be not to Ireland sent ; 

While fathers sit, too crushed and dumb to vow 
To send such ransom as may bring some vent 

For the home-coming of the loved and lost, 

Though all their worldly wealth may be the cost. 

Sisters wait sadly for the dismal time, 

The time of parting that must come too soon, 

And brothers think with anguish of that clim.e, 
That hated land to which their loved are bonne, 

And curse, as though it were a deadly crime, 

That well might chase from heaven the frighted moon, 

The cowardice of craven Cornish knights. 

Who dare not champion their monarch's rights. 

Fond maidens passionately pray to be 

The sharers of their lovers' weal or woe : 
If these the lot still destines to be free, 

They too the bliss of home would wish to know ; 
But, if to Irish lords they bow the knee, 

They too for sake of love would sink as low — 
Such is the strength affection gives a maid: 
The loving naught can fright and naught degrade. 

Alas ! The doom seems none the less a doom. 

Ordained to fall upon these stricken hearts. 
For who is there so bold as dare assume, 

When Moraunt's giant form as foe upstarts. 
The part of champion in this hour of gloom. 

Unless some Power unearthly strength imparts ? 
Were Merlin here, he scarce would give them aid. 
For magic charms will flee the coward's blade. 

And all the Cornish knights are carpet knights : 

Their King is craven, too, or else is cold ; 
For of resistance to these baseless rights — 

His soul is innocent of thought so bold : 
The very sound of Moraunt's name invites 

To each cheek in his court, though brown and old. 

1866.J Southern Poetry. IIJ 

Such pallid hue as maidens wont to wear, 

When fill their beating hearts with thoughts of fear. 

A gallant knight is Sir Moraunt, though scarce 

A prince of courtesy with friend or foe : 
Strong, brave, and frank, impetuous and fierce, 

For failing hearts he could no pity know. 
And would in ruthless scorn such bosom pierce 

As heaved with coward sobs and coward woe. 
As little as soft tear-drops know his cheek. 
Knows he the tenderness that spares the weak. 

He laughs to scorn the Cornishmen to-day : 
Their lady-brows are sad as night, 'tis true ; ' . 

But, though hate may mix with their wild dismay. 
They dare not scowl upon his haughty view ; 

And, though crushed passion claims her secret sway, 
They dare not frown their anger out, as clue 

To all the hate their tongues, if loosed, could tell 

For Moraunt's land, and all that in it dwell. 

But, hark, that faint cheer wafted from afar ! 

Doth it betoken for the wretched hope, 
And light their darkness with a rising star. 

By whose rays faith its wildered way may grope, 
And, grappling fell despair, its face may mar ? 

Can it be a champion come to cope 
With dark Moraunt, the tiger-hearted knight : 
Comes there one at last to uphold the right ? 

Lo ! Mark the King in Tintagel upstarts 

From his chair of state, eager to behold 
What sight could bring to fallen, sunken hearts 

Such joy as might a mother's heart enfold. 
When by her son's sick-bed the leech imparts 

Glad tidings of the fever's feeble hold. 
He gazes from the castle-wall to scan 
The knight who now draws near the bai'bican. 

It is a knight, who comes across the plains. 
Mounted well, and making what speed he can. 

Pressed by the base-born throng he much disdains, 
AVho will not part and give him way, for ban 

Or threat, though largely urged with both. Not chains 
Will keep the senseless rabble from the van 

What time there is no peril to be met. 

But only some new thing their eyes to whet. 

That barret-cap, that heron's plume that floats 
With wavy lightness from it up and down, 

King Mark, amid the music of the rotes 
And in the dance, has often seen it crown 

The noble head of one on whom he dotes ; 
For distant is the day when he will frown 

On the sister's son, who already bears 

So high a name as knight, though young in years. 

114 The Haversack, [June, 

A surer mark's the lion on his shield, 

That ramps with glare so fierce and red and high, 

Embossed in bass-relief on silver field, 
ATith a ruby for his glittering eye. 

His princely name and rank are thus revealed 
To all who may these knightly arms espy ; 

They stamp him Prince and Knight of Leonesse. 

Minstrel, huntsman and son of Roland Riss. 

As he draws near to Tintagel, the King 

At once in joyous haste descends the stair, 
His only hope to which he now can cling 

Eager to meet and give him welcome there : 
Around the knight his arms he longs to fling 

And learn from him, if he with Moraunt dare 
Contest the right on which so many fates 
Hang doubtful, like his counselors' debates. 

Sir Tristrem from his steed dismounts the while. 

And meets with a kind and courtly grace 
The King's glad welcome and the kinsman's smile, 

And with gay tones he chases from his face 
The sadness fixed there by conditions vile, 

And leaving of its stay some wrinkle-trace : 
By Tristrem's merry eye his gloom is shamed — 
Such sadness is by courage dumbly blamed. 

C. W. H. 
{To le continued.) 


During the Christmas holidays of soon placed themselves so threaten- 

1861-2 General Stonewall Jackson ingly on the line of communication 

gave orders to his troops to com- of the United States garrison at Rom- 

mence building winter quarters. As ney in Hampshire county, that it 

soon as he supposed that the spies was abandoned. General Jackson 

of the enemy had time to communi- sent a portion of his forces to occupj' 

cate the intelligence, and thus to lull that important point. The officer in 

into security, he began the first of charge of them was so much dissat- 

those rapid secret marches which isfied with his position that he made 

afterward made him so famous. His such representations to the Secretarj' 

own second in command did not know of War as to induce him to issue an 

the line of march, nor the objects of order for the evacuation. As the of- 

the campaign ; and it is said that he ficial then in charge of the War De- 

often expressed his annoyance at the partment was as ignorant of militarj' 

reticence of his chief. Then was etiquette as of the art of war, it 

first noticed the General's plan of was said that he issued this order 

halting for the night short of a cross- without consulting General Jackson 

road, so that his own troops could in regard to its propriety or the im- 

not tell what route he would take in portance of Romney to our cause, 

the morning. The weather was hor- The General obeyed the order, and 

rible ; but his noble soldiers pressed then tendered his resignation, which, 

on spite of ice, sleet, and snow, and however, was not accepted. A friend. 


The HaversacTc. 


supposing that he might have been cessity for constructing a raft-bridge at 
induced to take this step through Castleman's Ferry; but should yon bc- 
pique at the discourtesy shown him, come satisfied that the enemy designs ad- 
wrote to him, remonstrating with vancing on you in such force as to re- 
him for inflicting so serious a loss ^""'^ 7°^^ to fall back, and you should 
upon the country through motives of determine to do so by Cattleman's Ferry, 
offended pride. In replj, he received Pl^ase let me know and I ml at once 
1 , , ^1 • 1 , X. ■ ^L iu have the bridge constructed m the event 
a letter which, not benig altogether ^f . § ^^^0 rapid transporta- 
satisfactory m regard to the General's tion than can be furnished by the two 
feelmgs and future mtentions, he ferry-boats, the capacities of which I no- 
again wrote a more earnest appeal to tified you some days since. Major Mor- 
him. The reader will be struck with rison writes that they are expecting Burn- 
the resemblance between the temper side to attack Eoanoke Island. 

and language of the following an- 
swer to the second letter and those 
employed by General Washington on 
a similar occasion when writing to a 
gentleman in New-England. 

The sentences underscored in Gen- 
eral Jackson's letter have been mark- 
ed thus by the editor of the Maga- 
zine : 

AViNCiiESTEK, February V, 1862. 
General : It appears from your letter 
of yesterday that I have not made my- 
self understood respecting the motive 
that prompted the tendering of my resig- 
nation. It was not because I felt that an 
indignity had been offered me, but be- 
cause the Secretary of War had applied 
a principle which, if persisted in, would 
ruin our cause. I have taken the ground., 
and hope always to adhere to it, that indi- 
vidual intej'ests must he disregarded tohen 
country is involved, — that our ca^ise must 
be placed high above every other temporal 
consideration. As I was the first oflQeer 
to whom the Secretary applied the prin- 
ciple of unnecessarily abandoning to the 
enemy what had been first restored to us, 
it in my humble opinion became my duty 
to protest against such a course in the Bloomery important to him. 

Respectfully your ob't ser't, 

T. J. Jackson, 
Major-Gen eral. 
CojiMANDiNG Officer at Leesburg. 

Winchester., Feb. 15, 1862, 

Y.SO A.M. 

General : Yesterday morning the ene- 
my drove the militia from Bloomery Pass, 
distant from here twenty-one miles. An- 
other consequence of abandoning Rom- 
ney. Some of the enemy are reported as 
killed, and a number of ours as captured. 
Day before yesterday, I sent eleven 
small boats to Castleman's Ferry. One 
of the twelve mentioned in my former 
dispatch was unserviceable. 

Respectfully, your ob't serv't, 
T. J. Jackson, 
Commanding Officer, Leesburg. 

Winchester, Va., 
Feb. lY, 1862. 
General : Yesterday Lieutenant-Colo- 
nel Ashby recovered Bloomery, wound- 
ing one of "the enemy and capturing a 
horse. Ashby also had a man wounded. 
The enemy can make the occupation of 

strongest terms, which I did after execut- 
ing this order, by tendering my resigna- 
tion, thus showing that I would not con- 
sent to be a willful instrument in carrying 
out a ruinous policy. 

Truly yours, T. J. Jackson. 

Winchester, February 10, 1862. 

General : I send herewith the Rich- 
mond Dispatch of the 8th. 

A few days since, Captam. Baylor 
wounded a couple of Yankees who were 
trying to run off one of his negroes, and 

I am apprehensive for the safety of 
Winchester. Should it fall, it would be 
a serious loss. The enemy might then 
advance southward, and thus force the 
evacuation of Centreville, etc., without 
firing a gun at our main position, but 
merely by seizing the communication and 
cutting off su^jplies for Manassas. 
Respectfully, your ob't serv't, 
T. J. Jackson, 

The ten boats and a gondola capable 

soon after they crossed the Potomac and of carrying a hundred men, left Berry's 

burned several houses in Harper's Ferry. I'erry yesterday for Castleman s. 

I hope that there will not be any ne- Commanding Officer at Leesburg, Va. 

VOL. I. — NO. II. 9 


The Hmersack. 


Winchester, Feb. 20, 1862. 
General : I return herewith the state- 
ment of the Baltimore refugee, for which 
I am much obliged to you. 

Your intrenching tools have not ar- 
rived. When they come I will forward 
them to the ferry, and notify you of the 

The railroad is complete as far east as 

I am not fortifying. My position can 
be turned on all sides. There are some 
fortifications here, in which are heavy 

Should I succeed in getting an engineer 
officer, I may need some of the tools you 
speak of, and loill be thankful for them. 

Buckner and Pillow are at Nashville 
with 25,000 men. 

Respectfully, your ob't serv't, 
T. J. Jackson, 

Commanding Officer at Leesburg. 
Winchester, Feb. 22, 
4.40 P.M. 
General: I will mark the letters in 
future, when the case is urgent, as you 

/ fully agree with you, respecting the 
importance of fortifying, but feel a deli- 
cacy about suggesting any thing to Gene- 
ral Johnston respecting points in his de- 
partment outside of my district ; but as 
the points you name are so intimately 
connected with your position, you can do 
so with propriety. 

Tennessee troops, en route from this 
place to Manassas, are crossing at Castle- 
man's Ferry. No news, yet, of the in- 
trenching tools. 

Respectfully, your ob't serv't, 

T. J. Jackson, 
Commanding Officer at Leesburg. 

The letters of the 20th and 22d 
February, 1862, show the General's 
opinion of the importance of fortifica- 
tion. It was often said of him that 
he despised such things, and an un- 
generous effort M'as made at one time 
by some foolish writers to decry 
" West-Point science," by pointing to 
the example of General Jackson. 

Now, his plan was to be the attack- 
ing party, if possible; and he often 
spoke of the advantage of attack over 
defense as being two-fold, namel}^ the 
assailant had the moral advantage of 

assumed superiority, and he could 
strike his blow at the weakest point 
of the line. 

But when a point had to be de- 
fended, there was no one who saw 
more clearly than he the advantage 
of protecting his own men and of 
breaking the impetuosity of the en- 
emy by earthworks of even a slight 

The Russians, during their war 
with Napoleon, had more steadiness 
and endurance than the French 
troops ; but they could not withstand 
the enthusiasm and rapidity of the 
attacks of the French soldiery, till 
they delayed them by earth-works, 
abattis, and obstructions of various 
kinds, long enough to cool the fierce- 
ness and ardor of the assault. Mc- 
Clellan had the same notions in 
regard to Southern impetuosity, and 
he fortified every step as he ad- 
vanced ; and all his successors wisely 
followed his example. The art of for- 
tification is as old as the art of war 
itself, and the foolish men who wished 
to eulogize General Jackson were 
paying him but a poor compliment, 
when they sought to make his opin- 
ions different from those of all the 
great captains, from Joshua down to 
Napoleon. The thorough soldier, but 
ignorant boor, Suwarrow, had great 
success when opposed to men like 
himself, but the scientific generals of 
Napoleon taught him the folly of his 
contempt for the great principles of 
warfare, and he died in neglect and 

The night after Burnside's repulse 
at Fredericksburgh, General Jackson 
ordered his artillery to throw tip 
epaulements and his infantry to dig 
rifie-pits. The enemy, it is well 
known, did not attack the next day, 
and his situation was very precarious. 

General Franklin, in his testimony 
before the Committee of Investigation, 
expressed his surprise at this, and 
said his troops would have been de- 
moralized by even a show of attack- 
ing them. A division commander 
said to General Jackson, " My batte- 
ries could be opened with terrible 
effect." He replied, " If we are quiet, 


The Haversack. 


may be they will renew the attack." 
It is probable such a hope influenced 
the Confederate leaders, and kept 
them from making the attack them- 
selves. The dawn of the next morn- 
ing revealed that Burnside, or rather 
his troops, had recrossed the river. 

The writer of this happened to be 
by General Jackson, when it became 
evident that the enemy had escaped. 
His countenance expressed great dis- 
appointment, while he gazed on the 
open field where the foemen had late- 
ly been, nothing to be seen there now 
but some newly upturned graves and 
some still unburied bodies. At 
length he said, " I did not think that 
a little red earth would have frighten- 
ed them. I am sorry that they are 
gone. I am sorry I fortified." 

The italics in the preceding letters 
are our own and not his. 

It is needless to say that he was 
entirely mistaken as to the strength 
of Buckner and Pillow, he having de- 
rived his information from the news- 

The letter of the seventeenth Feb- 
ruary shows the forecast of General 
Jackson and his military genius. He 
divined .the plan which McClellan, 
that thorough master of the theory 
of warfare, had adopted. 

At the time General Jackson was 
writing this letter, the officer to whom 
it was directed was in consultation 
with a refugee, who had escaped 
through the lines and who brought 
certain intelligence of a flank move- 
ment against Centreville by way of 
Winchester, and it may be of Loudon 
and Fauquier counties. The informa- 
tion of this man was most minute 
and accurate in regard to the position 
and strength of all the troops on the 
north side of the Potomac, as well 
of those under McClellan in person. 
Some of his adventures in gathering 
facts and getting through the lines 
were of a romantic character and of 
thrilling interest. His statements 
were written out in full and forward- 
ed both to General Johnston and 
to General Jackson. Whether the 
former had received earlier intelli- 
gence of the intended movement, we 

do not know certainly, but the latter 
had not. The refugee soon after 
sealed his devotion to the Southern 
cause with his blood. He had a fore- 
boding of his fate, and said that he 
"had come to die with his own 

As soon as the movement was fully 
developed and the enemy began to 
cross the Potomac, General Jackson, 
ever prompt to strike a blow, pro- 
posed a plan for the union of the 
forces at Leesburg with his own, 
that together they might attack and 
beat him in detail. 

The letter containing his full views 
can not now be found, and may be 
in the hands of his biographer. The 
letter of March tenth refers to the 
junction of forces and to his firm 
conviction that " a kind Providence 
would bless it with a rich military 
harvest." The oflScer at Leesburg 
wrote to his superior for instructions, 
and received for a reply, " If Jackson 
can give yOu assurance that together 
you can repulse the enemy, I would 
do it, otherwise not." Finding that 
no troops were to join him, Jackson 
resolved to hold his position alone. 
We think that there is nothing in his 
great career so sublime as his remain- 
ing at Winchester when all his allies 
had abandoned the adjacent posts 
and left him without the remotest 
prospect of help against an enemy 
more than ten times as numerous as 
himself. This was a source of great 
anxiety to some of the retreating col- 
umns, but of amusement to many 

" What news, .Stuart; has Jackson 
left Winchester yet?" "No, and he 
will not till he has hit them a good 
lick." Such was the manner in 
which his great tenacity was viewed 
by his comrades. 

At last he fell back, but only to 
return when he thought that the oc- 
casion presented itself to "hit the 
good lick." The battle of Kernstown 
was fought against greater odds than 
any other battle in our history, save 
Boonsboro alone. It was a defeat, 
but the generous Irishman who fought 
Jackson paid the most handsome tri- 


The HmersacTc. 


bute to the magnificent courage of 
his troops and to their skillful hand- 
ling. But this, though a defeat, was 
fraught with more important conse- 
quences than most of our Confeder- 
ate victories (Chickaraauga, for in- 
stance,) if it be indeed true that it 
brought Banks back from his march 
to join McClellan. In that event the 
blow was begun at Kernstown which 
Tvas made decisive on the Chicka- 

The generosity of General Shields 
was felt by Jackson, and we have 
reason to believe that the kind feel- 
ings mutually entertained for each 
other in the Mexican war were never 
changed by their being on opposite 
sides in the great civil contest. 

The letter of the twenty-sixth Feb- 
ruary is curious as showing that nine- 
teen months before he captured Har- 
per's Ferry with its garrison of eleven 
thousand live hundred men and sev- 
enty-two pieces of artillery, he un- 
derstood precisely how it was to be 
done. This letter sketches out the 
very plan which he afterward adopt- 
ed. vSome foolish persons have sup- 
posed that his successes were happy 
blunders, or the result of the inspira- 
tion of the moment. The fact is just 
the reverse ; his plans were well ma- 
tured, well weighed, and thoroughly 
digested before he put them into exe- 
cution. Because he told no one of 
his thoughts, many imagined that he 
allowed himself quietly to float down 
the current of events waiting for the 
fevorable turn to enter or seize some 
desirable haven. "If my left hand 
knew what my right hand was do- 
ing," said he on one occasion to a too 
curious individual, " I would cut it 
off." But his intimate friends knew 
that his mind was ever active. ' ' Jack- 
son is alwaj's forming plans for kill- 
ing Yankees," said Stuart of him at 
Centreville. In truth, though a de- 
vout believer in an over-ruling Provi- 
dence, he M'as no fatalist. He be- 
lieved in employing right means in 
order that Providence might bless 
those means. Napoleon had some 
strange notions about his star and 
" the sun of Austerlitz," but this su- 

perstition never kept him from ar- 
ranging the plan of battle himself and 
seeing in person to the execution of 
its minutest details. He was never 
suspected of making "happy blun- 
ders," because of his blind belief in 
destiny. Why, then, should this 
language be applied to the victories 
of the Christian soldier because of 
his faith in the Ruler of the universe ? 
Is it not a species of infidelity ? 
the envy of the man of the world at 
the genius of the man of prayer ? or 
might it be rather the jealousy of the 
weak mind on account of the great- 
ness which it can not understand or 
appreciate ? 


February 24, 1862. 

General : The enemy crossed the 
Potomac last night, and took possession 
of Harper's Ferry ; his force is not 
known. The telegraphic line between 
here and there is broken at several points. 
I will take immediate steps toward re- 
pairing it. Respectfully, your obedient 
servant, T. J. Jackson, 


Commanding Oeficer at Leesburg. 

If you can aid me, please be in readi- 
ness. I will keep you advised of events. 
Headquarters, AYinchester, Va., 
February 26, 1862. 

General: Your letter of yesterday 
indicates that your position is threatened. 
And whilst I need reenforcements, yet I 
do not desire them to be sent if your 
own safety will be endangered thereby. 
The enemy has not advanced this side of 
Harper's Ferry. It appears to me that 
you can prevent the reconstruction of 
the railroad bridge at Harper's Ferry, 
and possibly drive the enemy out of the 
town by means of a few pieces of artil- 
lery on the Loudon Heights. 

If the enemy are satisfied that the 
railroad bridge can not be rebuilt, I think 
the town will probably be evacuated, and 
especially if you can get such a position 
as to endanger their boats. The attempt 
from the Loudon Heights is worth the 
tlie effort. The artillery would have to be 
placed some distance below the summit. 
The invaders crossed in boats. Eespect- 
fully, your obedient servant. 

T. J. Jackson, 


Commanding Officer at Leesburg. 


-The HaversacTc, 


Winchester, 6.51 a.m., 
March 1, 1862. 

General : Your despatch of the 4th is 
the last that has reached me. 

I am in a condition to fall back now, 
but do not know when I will do so. 

What point do you fall back to ? 

Captain Sheetz, at Berryyille, took two 
Federals yesterday. They report that in 
their opinion about 20,000 have crossed 
at Harper's Ferry. Captain Sheetz re- 
ports that a party of the enemy are 
moving up the Shenandoah on your side 
of the river. I think it is small, and 
probably has for its object the possession 
of the ferries. 

I will let you know immediately when 
I fall back. 

The news of Lander's death and of 
Shields being his successor is confirmed. 
Eespectfully, your obedient servant, 
T. J. Jackson, 

Major- General. 

Commander C. S. Forces, Leesburg. 

Winchester, 6.3S a. m,, 
March 8, 1862. 
General : I have no news this morn- 
ing. Yesterday the enemy came within 
about five miles of here. Ashby skir- 
mished with him for some distance, and 
finally, aided 'by a kind Providence, to 
whom all glory be given. Since that 
time the enemy has not returned. As 
instruments in the hands of God, great 
praise is due to Colonel Ashby and his 
brave officers and men. 

I have no dispatch from you since the 
one dated the 4th instant. Respectfully, 
your obedient servant, 

T. J. Jackson, 


Please let me know to what point you 
are moving. 

Winchester, 5.55 a.m., 
March 10, 1862. 

General : Some of your dispatches 
that there was reason to believe were lost, 
finally, after two or three days subsequent 
to their date, reached me. I do not 
think that the dispatches of more than 
two days failed ultimately to reach me. 

I would be delighted if you were out 
over here with your command. I have 
reason to believe that a kind Providence 
would give us a rich military harvest. 
As yet, the enemy have not come within 
nearer than five miles of me ; but may 
do so at any time, if not prevented by 

When he advanced last Friday my 
command was in delightful spirits, well 
tuned for defending the trust confided 
to them. 

I felt quite anxious about you when 
you were at Leesburg, during the last 
few days of your stay. 

Please send the accompanying dis- 
patch to General Johnston. I would not 
trouble you with it liad I not an oppor- 
tunity of sending it so far on its way by 
your courier. Respectfully, your obe- 
dient servant, T. J. Jackson, 


Commander C. S. Forces. 

In the early part of 1862, Briga- 
dir-General Charles P. Stone, Unit 
ed States army, was arrested on the 
suspicion of disloyalty to his govern- 
ment. As one of the charges against 
him was a treasonable correspond- 
ence with a former friend and mess- 
mate, the editor of this Magazine, 
justice to a brave, honorable, and 
high-minded officer seems to re- 
quire the publication of the only 
three letters ever received from him, 
though we had hoped not to intrude 
ourselves in any way in the Monthly. 
The originals of these letters are still 
preserved, and can be seen by those 
curious about such matters. They 
are a sufficient reply to one of the 
charges against General Stone, who 
v/as imprisoned, we believe, for twelve 
months. The propriety of sending 
these letters by flag of truce to Gen- 
eral McOlellan was at one time dis- 
cussed ; but it was feared that rebel 
interest in the fate of the unfortu- 
nate officer would but add to his dif- 
ficulties. General Beauregard had 
forwarded a paper found on the bat- 
tle-field of Ball's Bluff, which re- 
lieved General Stone from the re- 
sponsibility of that disaster ; but this, 
it was thought, had done him harm. 

Headquarters Corps oe Observation, 
PooLSViLLE, Jan. 8, 1862. 
General D. H. Hill, Commanding Forces 

at Leesburg, Va. : 

General : A temporary absence at 
Washington prevented my receiving un- 
til last night your letter of the 4th in- 
stant, accompanying three wounded pris- 
oners unconditionally released. While 
expressing my high appreciation of this 


Elmsville and its Eospibat. 


act of humanity, I will state that I have 
recommended the release, on the same 
terms, of three prisoners of equal grade, 
whom I hope to have the pleasure of re- 
turning to your care. Very respectfully, 
General, your obedient servant, 

(Signed) Chas. P. Stone, 


Headquarters Corps of Observation, 
PooLSViLLE, Jan. 15, 18G2. 

General : In reply to your inquiry as 

to whether I would receive Miss E and 

Miss G , whom you desire to expel, I 

would state that if "tliey are loyal to the 
United States and desire to come witliin 
the lines of the army, they will be re- 
ceived and protected. Very respectfully. 
General, your most obedient, 

CiiAS. P. Stone, 
Brigadier-General Commanding. 

General D. H. Hill, Commanding at 

Headquarters Corps op Observation, 
PooLsviLLE, Jan. 15, 1862. 

General : Your letter of yesterday's 
date was duly received this morning. 
The firing on Sunday night was directed 
not on your pickets, as reported to you, 
but on a boat attempting a passage near 
Harrison's Island. 

I shall direct officers bearing flags of 
truce to be more careful in future about 
crossing before the arrival of the officers 
sent to meet them. You can of course 
fire on the balloons if you see fit; but 
the fire will be returned as soon as given. 

I respond fully and freely to your 
kind personal feelings, and can never 
forget the friendship and esteem con- 
ceived years ago for the manly man who 
nobly sustained then the flag he is now 
so madly endeavoring to trail in the dust, 
he forgetting that under its folds he 
learned the art and science which he now 
brings to bear in the vain attempt to 
workout its humiliation. You jestingly 
speak of the treatment I shall receive 
when captured by your troops ! The offi- 
cers of this command have learned what 
treatment to expect should they under 
any circumstances surrender, by that 
meted out by your superiors to the brave 
Cogswell ; and I for one would prefer 
the kindly bullet, with my " face to the 
sky and feet to the foe" of my country 
and flag, to the tender mercies of your 

When you may by the chance of war 
fall into the hands of your old friend, 
you shall find the softest ground in his 
tent, spread with his best blanket for 
you, and the best seat at his poor table 
awaiting you. Very respectfully, Gen- 
eral, your most obedient servant, 

Chas. P. Stone, Brigadier-General. 

General D. H. Hill, Leesburg, Va. 

Reports of battles have been prom- 
ised from Generals Johnston, Beau- 
regard, and others, and will appear 
from time to time. 



"Yes, mother, to-night is my last 
at home." Thus spoke Frank Bar- 
ton, in reply to a question asked by 
his inother. "To-morrow I leave for 
my regiment. I received a letter from 
Phil Bradford yesterday; and in it 
he mentions that Major Cross has 
been disabled by the accidental dis- 
charge of a gun in the hands of one 
of the soldiers. Poor Cross ! I am 
sorry for him. He is a gallant sol- 
dier and a noble fellow." 

"But, my son, why go to-morrow? 
Lil is at ; and John will surely 

be provoked if you do not see him 
before you leave for Virginia." 

"Well, mother, I would certainly 
like to see Johnnie ; and I must see 
Lil — bless her! She would never 
forgive me if I went away without 
seeing her." 

"Frank, you really must not go 
to-morrow. What has Phil Brad- 
ford written you that has so sudden- 
ly recalled you to your command ?" 

"Mother, I am morally certain 
that one woman has twice as much 
curiosity as three men ; but to settle 


Elmsville and its Hospital. 


difficulties, and quiet your mind, 
here's Phil's letter. You can read it, 
and if you see why I should remain 
at home, after reading it, why, of 
course I'll do so ; and, while 3'^ou are 
engaged in finding out the 'fine 
points,' I will call Jack and tell him 
to saddle Telegraph, for I must go 
and see Johnnie and that little wife 
of his." 

So saying, the handsome Prank 
whistled to a greyhound lying on the 

"Come, Jowler, old fellow, do you 
want to go over to Calhoun too ?" 
Then, M'histling three times in a 
shrill tone, as a summons to his dark 
valet, he was answered by a spright- 
ly boy of merry countenance and un- 
mistakably of color. 

"Did you call. Mass Frank? I 
fought I yere your whistle, sah." 

" Yes; I want you to saddle Tele- 
graph, and bring him round to the 

Frank then walked slowly back 
toward the house, whence he had 
sauntered while issuing his orders to 
Jack ; and as he reached the steps, 
he sat down and looked thoughtfully 
around him, noting with a half-sad 
tenderness the many familiar objects 
upon which his eye rested, 

" To-morrow," said he to himself, 
" I return to my regiment. Shall I 
ever return home ? Shall I ever see 
again this spot, so loved, so dear ? 
Will my eyes ever again see that dar- 
ling mother, gentle, loving sister, and 
my brother ?" 

His sad musings were interrupted 
by his mother's voice, calling from 
the parlor. 

" Frank, are you busy ? If not, 
come here for a moment, before you 
leave. I want you to tell me what to 
put away in your trunk. I know 
you will not come back before night- 
fall. Johnnie and Annie will keep 
you until then." 

"Mother dear, do as you like 
about the matter. You are better 
acquainted with my wants than I 

As his mother, thus commissioned 
with full powers, turned away in- 

stinctively to commune with herself 
in regard to Frank's needs, his expe- 
ditious "master of the horse" ap- 
peared, with his report of proceed- 
ings on his lips : 

"Telegraph ready. Mass Frank! 
I got urn roun' to de piazza." 

" Good-by, Lady Barton. I'll see 
you ere the gentle queen of night 
begins her silvery reign. So, get 
every thing ready for me, and good- 
by again." 

Kissing his mother, he disappear- 
ed through the door ; and in a few 
moments was speeding down the 
avenue on the spirited horse, which 
had taken its eccentric name from its 
reputation for swiftness, a qualitj'' 
well exercised whenever Frank was 
the rider. 

Let me tell you briefly, reader, who 
Frank Barton was. He was a de- 
scendant of one of the oldest families 
in Floyd county, the younp;est son 
of Colonel Barton, a gentleman of 
distinction as a statesman and sol- 
dier. Young, handsome, wealthy, 
he added to these adventitious quali- 
ties the charm of a genial manner 
and an irresistible frankness in eye, 
tone, and gesture. Better and rarer 
than these, were those ingredients of 
worth and excellence, which raised 
his character to so high a standard 
in the estimation of all who knew 
him — his generous instincts, his hon- 
orable principles, his imswerving ad- 
herence to any purpose once resolved 
upon, and last of all, his unselfish- 
ness. "Warmly attached to friends 
as well as kindred, devoted to our 
righteous cause, and conspicuously 
brave in the hour of danger, he was 
a noble specimen of manhood, pos- 
sessing all the requisites of a true 
gentleman. He was, at the breaking 
out of the war a recent graduate of 
Emory College, where he had won 
the prize for the best essay, and had 
taken the first honor ; and, if it could 
add to his merits, he was now senior 
captain in the Fifty-second Georgia 

Mrs. Barton busied herself, mean- 
while, to get her boy ready for the 
morrow. With a sad foreboding shp 


Elmsville and its Eosxntal. 


arranged his clothing, fondly linger- 
ing over each article as she folded it 
and packed it away. Fond mother ! 
Little did she think that strangers' 
hands would perform the same ser- 
vice ere long for her loved boy. But 
I anticipate. 

Frank cantered along the hard, 
rocky road for some time. After 
a while, however, as if by mutual 
consent, he and Telegraph were satis- 
fied to go at a slower pace. "Well, 
to-morrow night," thought he, " I 
must stop in Atlanta, and see little 
Lil ; and then away to the bloody 
fields of Virginia! I will rank as 
rnajor, if Ben Cross loses his leg, as 
Bradford writes me it is feared he 
will. Poor Ben ! We were neigh- 
bors, friends, and comrades. I feel 
deeply for him. What evils these 
wretches have brought upon us! x\s 
T ride along this beautiful country 
and see on every hand evidences of 
wealth and comfort, the desolate 
wastes of Northern Virginia rises be- 
fore my mind's eye, and indicate to me 
what horrors may yet be perpetrated 
upon our fair land. Will the in- 
vader's foot ever desecrate my lovely, 
peaceful, quiet home ? The track of 
Sherman is marked with fire ; and 
ruin and desolation attend his ruth- 
less army at every step. The once 
lovely town of Jackson is now in 
ashes. Ah me ! when will this 
bloody war cease ? Shall we achieve 
our independence, or shall we be 
conquered ?" 

Indulging in this train of thought. 
Captain Barton was scarcely aware 
that he was so near to his place of 
destination. "Where are you going. 
Captain ?" was asked of him at this 
moment. Ere he could recover his 
wande4-ing thoughts, Phil Bradford 
grasped his hand, and shaking it 
warmly, said : 

" No longer Captain now, however, 
but Major ; and I have the sad task, 
Frank, of carrying Ben Cross's re- 
mains homo. When the train leaves 
for Rome, I go with it. Wliat were 
you thinking of, when I stopped 
you ? You evidently were dreaming 
or thinking with such pain, as absent 

lovers feel, of bright eyes in Rich- 

" Oh ! nonsense, Phil ! I was just 
thinking of Cross. So, poor fellow ! 
he is dead. I am truly sony for his 
familj^ When are you going back to 
Virginia ? I got your letter yester- 
day, and start to-morrow. If you 
will meet me in Atlanta three days 
hence, I am at your service." 

Turning his horse up the Main 
street, Frank passed on with his 
friend, until he came to a large 
female college, in which his brother 
was a professor. 

"Come in, Phil," said he, "and 
see Johnnie and his wife. They will 
be glad to see you." 

"Thank you, Frank. But I have 
only time to return to the depot be- 
fore the train starts for Rome." 

Parting here our friends went dif- 
ferent ways ; Frank paying his visit, 
and returning alone to the dear old 
home, where the unselfish love of a 
mother kept eager watch for his 

" So, mother," cried Frank, as he 
caught sight of the glad face in the 
doorwa}^, so ready with its welcome, 
" so, mother, here we are. Telegraph, 
Frank, Johnnie and wife. I per- 
suaded Doctor Lee to give Johnnie 
a holidajr, because I expected to 
leave home on the morrow : and 
mother, with my usual success I 
carried the day. And now, madam, 
allow me to present the newly-fledged 
Major Barton," bowing low to her in 
mock deference. 

" "What am I to understand, sir ? 
Arc 3'ou trying to tease me, or what 
does possess you ? Will you ever 
learn to be as dignified as your 

"Omost august lady! I am as 
serious as — as — well, as anything you 
please. But do let's have supper; 
I fam terribly hungry. Look at 
John's countenance. Don't you see 
by his long face that he is wofuUy 
hungry, too ? Annie, I am sure, will 
agree with us in rejoicing over the 
ai-rival of something warm and pleas- 
ing to the taste. Where are our 
faithful retainers ? Jack, urge Cook 


Elmsville and its Hospital. 


and Butler and all the tribe to put us spirits, now carrying on a conversa- 

out of our pain." tion with John and appearing serious 

Rattling on thus, Major Barton for a fevv moments, and then dashing 

managed to keep up his sinking oif to tease his mother or Annie. 


" Lil, who in the world is that hand- 
some young Major, coming up to the 
house?" exclaimed a merry school- 
girl to her companion. As Lil 
looked up, she saw her " own dear 
Frank," as she lovingly called him. 
Books and pencils were thrown down 
in wild confusion, and, with a joy- 
ous cry, Lil was folded in a pair of 
strong, loving arms, and warm 
kisses were pressed on her ruby 

"Lil, you are pretty. Did you 
know it, little one?" 

Thus the brother met his gentle 
little pet and only sister. Soon Lil 
was excused from recitation, and she 
and Frank were seated in the parlor 
of the institution, the well-regulated 
college in which Lil was a boarding 

"When are you going back home, 
Frank, darling ?" she asked. 

"Back home? Why, Sis, didn't 
you get my telegram, saying I would 
be here to-day and see you before I 
went back to my regiment?" asked 
Frank, quite surprised. 

" No, I haven't heard from any one 
but mamma recently — I mean, any 
one from home," said Lily, a bright 
blush suffusing her lovely face. 
" But, Frank, what do you mean 
by coming here and giving me a -sur- 
prise : and, then, to come in a Major's 
uniform ? I won't be put upon any 
longer. I am treated like a little 
child ; and I am seventeen, I'll let 
you know," said the spoiled beau- 
ty, " Somebody wouldn't do me so. 
But, tell me, what made you mount 
a star, Frank?" 

Her brother's face saddened, as he 
said : 

" You would have known, had you 
got my telegram. In it I mentioned 
Ben Cross's death. Poor fellow ! he 
was accidentally shot by an awkward 

man, who knew nothing about his 
gun. Ben refused to have the leg 
amputated, and preferred death to the 
loss of his limb, as it would have 
been necessary to amputate above 
the knee. I got the particulars from 
Phil Bradford." 

Lil gave a start as Phil's name 
was mentioned. 

" Phil Bradford in Georgia, 
Frank ?" And then blushing deeply, 
she seemed covered with confusion. 

" I wonder why my little sister 
takes so much interest in Lieutenant 
Bradford ; and why does she blush 
and start when his name is men- 
tioned ? Ah lady bird ! you have 
fallen in love with my Lieutenant, I 
see ; and Phil has returned your af- 
fection, has he?" 

Lily interrupted him by saying : 

" Do, brother, stop ; some one else 
is coming into the parlor." 

The servant announced Lieutenant 
Bradford, to see Miss Barton. Poor 
little Lil, nearly overwhelmed with 
confusion, would have made her es- 
cape ; but, held tight in her brother's 
arms, could not move. With an air 
of surprise, he said : 

" Why, Lieutenant Bradford, I ex- 
pected to meet you at the Central 
House, and here we meet at Dr. 
Gray's ! Well, old friend, my little 
sis has made me suspect some love 
affair. I will give my consent to any 
thing you wish." 

Phil grasped the hand of his friend 
warmly and said : 

" I wanted to tell you yesterday, 
Frank ; but you seemed so busy or 
preoccupied, that I concluded to wait 
until to-day. I have scarcely had 
time to breathe. Since I left you I 
went to Rome, rode back to Calhoun 
on horseback, and came down on the 
express which brought General John- 
ston from Chattanooga to Atlanta. 


Elmsville and its Hospital. 


I was a fortunate man to catch the 

Major Barton staid only a short 
while longer with his sister; and, 
promising to call again soon, he went 
down to his hotel and wrote to his 
mother, a duty he never omitted for 
a day, whenever it was possible to 
fulfill it. 

The three days passed quickly by, 
and Lily parted from lover and bro- 
ther with a sad heart. Weeping, she 
told each good-bj^ with a lingering 
tenderness that seemed to presage 
sorrow. Her embraces were given 
as if to those whom we lay away in 
" God's Acre." Do coming events^ 
indeed cast their shadows before 
them ? And was our darling Lily 
conscious of such a presentimen£, as 
she threw her snowy arms arovmd 
her brother's neck, and kissed him 
again and again? Time alone can 

When the door closed upon those 
loved forms, Lily wept long and pas- 
sionately. Li her journal, under date 
of the tenth of April, we find her 
writing thus : 

"Phil and Frank left me to-day 
for Richmond. I can not keep back 
the falling tears. I feel as though I 
had given them up forever. My home 
seems steeped in woe. Mother sits 
there alone ; and I, here, am more 
lonely still. A mighty tide of grief 
sweeps over me." 

Poor little darling ! grief came 
upon you early. You could ill 
brook the deep sorrow that burst 
upon your young head. 

Mrs. Barton could scarcely believe 
what she saw, when she read the an- 
nouncement of Lily's engagement. 
A faint perception of the truth broke 
upon her mind, as she continued 
reading her darling, blue-eyed pet's 
letter. "0 my little wee lamb! I 
can not give you up ! I thought my 
darling too young to think of love 
and marriage. I can not realize that 
Lily is nearly seventeen ; as she says, 
' She is no longer a child.' She is 
right ; but oh ! how hard it is for mc 
to let her leave me for a place in the 
battle of life!" 

The pet and idol of mother and 
brother had written freely to the 
fond being who had always sought 
to keep her little darling's confidence, 
telling of her engagement to Lieu- 
tenant Bradford, whom she knew her 
mother liked and respected, both for 
his own sake and he was 
Frank's warm friend. 

" I pray," pleaded she, "my mam- 
ma's blessing may rest on my love. 
O mamma dearest! say that j^ou are 
not vexed with your little daughter 
for acting without your knowledge. 
Frank knew of it. You have known 
Phil from boyhood, mamma ; and 
will you smile on me, and say, 'I 
freely give my consent to your en- 
gagement ' ? Be your own kind self, 
darling mamma, and make my hap- 
piness complete." 

Lily pleaded with a certainty of 
success : her mother would not have 
thwarted a wish of her heart. The 
mother, pleased to know that her 
daughter had chosen so worthilj^ and 
was so happj'' in her new-born emo- 
tion, but, with many a sad forebod- 
ing for the future, folded the letter 
and laid it away, determining to go 
down to Atlanta and bring Lil home 
for a few weeks. She missed the 
merry voice of her daughter, as she 
flitted like a bright bird from room to 
room, caroling gay snatches of song 
or bursting into gleeful laughter, ever 
and anon calling her mother to watch 
her as she bounded away with Jowler 
for a race on the lawn or down the 
avenue. Bright, laughing child ! As 
her mother recalled these many 
scenes of the happy past, she sighed 
deeply. All was gone now. Lily 
would live for some one else. A pang 
somewhat allied to jealousjr, shot 
through her heart, but found no last- 
ing lodgment in her pure breast ; for 
Mrs. Barton was a truly noble woman 
of most estimable Christian charac- 
ter, and with her love was allied that 
highest attribute of a true affection, 

Lily came down to gladden Wood- 
lands for a few weeks — ere the dark 
blight fell upon her childhood's homo 
which was to rob her heart of peace, 


Elmsville and its Hospital. 


and turn her newly-found happiness 
into the trouble of a bitter suspense 
or the hardly keener agony of certain 

"Mamma," cried she one day, 
" can I go to the railroad to-day ? I 
want to hear the news. Jack can 
ride behind me ; and it is only two 
miles. Say I may go, lady mother !" 
pleaded the little syren. " Oh ! yes, 
I'll go to the post-office. I know 
there's a letter from Frank." 

" And from whom else, Lil ? I 
imagine you would rather hear from 
Lieutenant Phil." 

"Do stop teasing, mamma, and 
say I may go. Here, Jack," she cried, 
running to the window, " saddle Kate 
and old Brownie, and have them 
ready when I come down-stairs. Do 
you hear. Jack ?" 

" Now, wha' you gwine, Miss Lily ? 
I spec' I got for go, too, and yer' I is, 
jis' is black is dat ole gobler dat stan' 
up yonder an' holler at me." 

Away he went to divest himself of 
his home jacket and cap, and to 
brush up a little, as he " spected" he 
had to go with Miss Lily to the sta- 

In accordance with her order, the 
horses were soon at the door ; and, 
with a light spring, she bounded into 
her saddle, and, kissing her hand to 
Mrs. Barton, cantered down the long 
avenue of cedars that reached from 
the house to the entrance gate. A 
fearless and graceful rider, she seldom 
failed to attract the admiring atten- 
tion of the few boys at home whose 
fortune it was to view her equestrian 
performances. These all vied with 
each other in showing her that, 
though boys in years, they were pos- 
sessed of as knightly a spirit as the 
fathers and brothers who were prov- 
ing their gallantry on the field of 
battle. Lily was dressed to-day in 
a dark-gray riding-habit that became 
well her complexion and coloring. 
The soft, peachy bloom of her cheek, 
flushed into richer depth of hue by 
the exercise she was taking, gave to 
the delicate white of her other fea- 
tures a yet more snowy tint, which 
lit her bright blue eyes with a sun- 

nier gleam, and bestowed upon her 
rosy lips a riper gloss than even they 
were wont to exhibit. 

As she rode on, the May breeze 
swept her curls in rude play, and 
sportively cast her wealth of golden 
ringlets over her face. 

" I am riding too fast," said she. 
" Jack will never in the world be 
able to keep up. I forgot poor old 
Brownie's shortcomings. He can't 
go as fast in his old age as my beauty 
Kate in her frolicsome youth. So, 
whoa, Kate ! Let's wait awhile for 
your old friend to come up." 

Many happy thoughts trooped 
through her mind as she paused thus 
under the fresh, green foliage, quietly 
waiting for Jack and Brownie. A 
few weeks ago her brother had rid- 
den over the same road — and with 
what different emotions ! Where was 
her brother now, and why had he not 
written ? "Was he sick, or was an- 
other battle going on ? Phil had 
written that Meade was pressing Lee 
near the Rappahannock, and they 
expected to have a heavy battle soon. 

" Come up, Kate," says she now, 
"yonder is old Brownie, jogging 
along as composedly as though he 
were not keeping Miss Barton and 
her black beauty waiting." 

So . saying, she lightly touched 
Katie's side with her fairy little whip, 
and dashed away to the depot. 

"Just hin time, Mith Lily!" 
shouted a merry little boy of six 
years. " The train ith coming up 
the hill. Quick ! Let me hold Katie 
for you." 

Lily dismounted, and walked to- 
ward the train with her little friend. 

" Now, Jimmie, run and ask Mr. 
Young if there is any news from Vir- 
ginia. I am coming on, too." 

She soon heard the conductor say- 
ing, in reply to her message : 

"Yes, tell Miss Barton I want to 
see her, I have a letter for the Rev. 
John Barton." 

Lily stepped forward and took it 
from him. 

" Thank you, Mr. Young. Any 
news from Virginia?" 

" Sad news, Miss Barton. We 


Elmsville and its ITosjntal. 


have had another bloody fight. Lee 
has whipped the rascals ; but, my 
God ! we have suffered awfully. The 
Fifty-second has fought gallantly, and 
suffered heavily. Here is the day's 

Speaking as if in a dream, Lily 
turned to Jack and said : 

" Go and bring Kate for me ; I am 
going to see brother John at the col- 

"Poor little darling! a storm was 
soon to burst in wild fury over her 
young head. She went to the college, 
and having delivered the letter to her 
brother, she sat down to read the 
news given by the paper. A wild 
shriek burst from her lips and caused 
Mr. Barton to look up. Hastily 
crossing the room, he reached Lily 
in time to catch her fainting form. 
God, poor child ! Frank was mor- 
tally wounded — Phil was missing — 
it was feared, killed. Mr. Barton 
uttered a deep groan, and bore his 
ftunting sister to the room occupied 
by himself and wife as a sitting- 

"Annie," said he, "sad news 
awaits you^ Be prepared, dear wife. 
Our family has lost its brightest 
jewel. Frank was mortally wounded 
at Chancellorsville last Friday. 
my mother ! My poor mother !" 

Soon Lily recovered suflBciently to 
ask for her mother. 

"Do take me home to mamma." 

A bitter flood of tears rained down 
her cheeks. "0 my brother, my 
brother !" cried she. 

Soon John Barton carried her 
home to her mother, who was by 
this time full of anxiety, as the hour 
for her return had long passed, and 
she feared some accident had occurred 
to, her. child. Confusion now reigned 
at Woodlands. Mrs. Barton fell into 
a series of fainting-fits ; and one mo- 
ment of consciousness was succeeded 
by hours of insensibility. Poor 
Lil ! Her voice had lost its joyous 
ring; and her light buoyant step 
failed and lagged as she forced her- 
self from room to room. Those 
haunting words, "Lieutenant Brad- 
ford, commanding company D, miss- 

ing, supposed killed ; Major Barton, 
mortally wounded," rang ever in her 

"Jack," said she at last, "go to 
the post-office ; may be some tidings 
may reach us of Frank or Phil," 
murmuring these last words to her- 
self, as she clung desperately to the 
very shadow of hope. 

Jack hurried off, and soon return- 
ed with a bundle in his hand. 

" Miss Lily, yer' some letters an' 
papers. Mr. Long say Mass Frank 
is better, an' eberything may be right 
yet. Cheer up. Missis ! Hope for 
de bes' !" 

Lily eagerly read the latest tele- 
gram from Colonel C : 

" Dear Madam : Your son is bet- 
ter, and not mortally wounded, as at 
first supposed. Plopes are enter- 
tained of his recovery. He is dan- 
gerously wounded. I am with him. 
I will dispatch you daily. Yours, 
"H. C ." 

' ' Mamma, mamma ! Look up 
at me, listen to me, darling mother. 

Here is Colonel C 's message. He 

tells us about our darling, mamma; 
he is not dead. my Father in 
heaven ! is my mother dead, too?" 

Broken-hearted, almost dying, 
Mrs. Barton faintly heard the words 
of Lily. They seemed to come from 
a great distance. " Frank is not 
dead." Memory tries to resume her 
sway. But the truth was too much 
to be taken in at once. A faint mo- 
tion answered Lily's anguished cry ; 
and then, slowly opening her eyes, 
she said: "What is it, my child? 
Where am I ?" 

" Mamma, look at me. Frank is 
living! He is wounded, but doing 

In that hour of trial, the clinging 
dependent child became the stay and 
support of her heart-broken parent. 
Her father had died ere she could 
lisp the name papa. Troubles had 
gathered thickly around Mrs. Bar- 
ton's pathway in life. Four lovely 
children lay sleeping in the village 
churchyard ; and the husband of 
her youth had met with a sudden 


History in Words. 


and awful death. Now her best- 
loved son lay dymg away from home, 
in a strange land, with such scanty 
comforts around him as the sick sol- 
dier can obtain at the hands of 
strange nurses and hospital stew- 
ards. However, there is one cheer- 
ing thought. Her boy still lives, and 
will come home, when well enough to 
travel. He will, it is true, be dis- 
abled, as a second telegram from 

Colonel C informs them. He 

had lost the right leg, this despatch 
announced, "amputated six inches 

above the knee." Better that than 
death. Poor little Lily nobly bore 
her own heart's woe. No tears 
escaped from her, in her mother's 
presence. But who can tell the 
agony that wrung her soul, as day 
after day passed and no tidings of 
her lover came ? Better confirmation 
of her doubts than this dreadful sus- 

God in heaven send her peace and 
resignation to his will, in the midst 
of this bitter trial ! 

{To he confiniied.) 


A GREAT many persons pass through 
the world without seeing what is im- 
mediately before them. They need 
to have their attention called to mat- 
ters that have always been before 
their eyes, yet unseen, but which 
they might have known, if they had 
noticed. Hence so often when some- 
thing new is communicated to us, it 
seems as if we had known it before. 

Men will travel through a country 
and see not the soil, the peculiar 
kinds of trees, the rocks and minerals 
before their eyes, and can give no ac- 
count of them. We were, a few 
years ago, at the house of a man in 
an adjoining county, who had lived 
many years at the place, and had 
children grown, and in a few hours, 
passing over his farm, we called his 
attention to certain minerals scattered 
all about, of a regular shape and crys- 
talline form, which he had never no- 
ticed. Some of them were lying near 
his gate. He had probably passed 
over them fifty years, and yet had 
never observed any thing peculiar 
about them till his attention was di- 
rected that way. 

So it is with the Bible. Man 
reads it over, the eye runs over the 
words, the ear is accustomed to the 
sound, but the meaning which an- 
other person derives from them they 
know nothing about, and yet they 
suppose they understand what they 
read. They must have their atten- 

tion directed to certain points, and 
informed of what, at first view, it 
might be supposed they knew al- 
ready, or might easily discover for 
themselves, and when informed they 
are astonished at their ignorance. 

How many thousands read the pas- 
sage Acts 16 : 10 without noticing the 
change in the narration from the third 
to the first person, and the important 
inference to be drawn from it ; that 
the writer, Luke, fell in company 
with Paul at this point and went on 
with him. "And after 7j6 had seen 
the vision, immediately we endeavor- 
ed to go into Macedonia, assuredl}^ 
gathering that the Lord had called tis 
for to preach the Gospel unto them." 

So it is with language, words used 
continually, current coin in the intei'- 
course of life. The great mass of 
men employ words which they have 
learned from infancy, and because 
other people use them. They do not 
stop to analyze them, or to think 
what they really mean, and how they 
came to express what they do. They 
use a multitude of words and phra- 
ses of which they know not the ex- 
act meaning. 

And it has occurred to us that it 
would not be uninteresting or unpro- 
fitable to call attention to the variety 
and the multitude of terms furnished 
by our language, and in common use 
to denote the active agents in the va- 
rious trades, employments, profes- 


History in Words. 


sions and relations of life. There are 
several terminations of words as- 
signed for this purpose. Some of the 
terms are native and some are foi'eign. 
In some cases we have borrowed a 
word and dropped the ending: as 
scrib-a, coq-uus, cleric-us, scribe, 
cook, clerk ; or we retain the termi- 
nation — as agent, attendant; but it 
would seem that most of them must 
contain one or all the letters r, s, t, 
with some one of the vowels, but 
more often e or o. And sometimes 
we add man, at the end of the word. 

There seems to be a tendency to 
make the union vowel agree with the 
radical vowel of the word, as doctor, 
augur, vulture, warrior, venderer. 
And often this is much more the case 
to the ear than to the eye^ for with 
our obscure unaccented vowels we 
can hardly distinguish ar, er, ir, or, 
ur. Liar, one who tells a falsehood, 
and lier, one that lies down, can with 
difficulty be distinguished. The his- 
torians speak of the Inquisition as 
" the tribunal with all its tremendous 
apparatus of faraiWs, inquisitor's, 
and executioners." It is perhaps 
this tendency to assimilation that 
caused master to be sounded as if 
mister, and women as if wimin. In 
some cases it seems to be a matter of 
indifference on which side of the r 
the c is placed. Centre or center, 
and lyre or lier, tier or tire sound 

Tlie ending with r and some union 
vowel is found very extensively in 
the world to denote the agent or doer 
of what its verbal root, if it has any, 
means ; and probably at first it 
meant the same as our word man 
that we use in the same way, as work, 
to work, worker, wright, workman. 
In Latin vir in vir-ago, vir-ility ; in 
Sansci-it, vir-ah is hero ; in Greek, 
ar-es, an-er a man ; so, in Anglo- 
Saxon, wer is a man, and hence 
Averegild is the composition for homi- 
cide. Er in German is the masculine 
personal pronoun. We find it in the 
Turkish vizier ; in Zofoast-cr, shast- 
er, in llindoostan. In ancient Euro- 
pean proper names, Teucht-cri, Bruct- 
eri, Angviv-arii, Ar-morican. Canter- 

bury was originally Cant-wara-burh. 
These are only specimens : and so we 
find Het-man among the Cossacks, 
Her-man in Germany, together with 
Alle-man-ni, Marco-man-ni, etc. And 
it is astonishing to see the same ter- 
mination with the same meaning tra- 
veling round the world. And if we 
need a new term in the progress of 
society we easily form one. Geology 
is a recent science, and we have geo- 
logian, geologer, geologist. So mag- 
netizer, telegraphist, mesmerist, da- 
guerreotypist, photographer. We 
have on the railroad the conduc- 
tor, engineer, brakeman, fireman, 
tender, etc. We have artist, artisan, 
artificer ; arbiter, arbitrator ; at- 
tender, attendant; alder-man in a 
city, but elder in a church ; baker, 
baxter, (bakester;) bar, barrier, bar- 
rister, bar-tender ; bearer, burder, 
(Latin, burdo is a mule,) burdener. 
Boat-man, boat-swain, no boater, but 
rower and oars-man ; brewer, brew- 
ster ; braker, brake-man, broker ; 
bander, binder, bender, bounder, but 
no bonder, apparently because of 
bondman, bondsman, bound-man or 
boy, an apprentice ; and it may be 
thought strange our ancestors did 
not have a bundler. A chandler 
makes candles, and the chandelier 
(Latin, candelabra) holds them when 
burnt. Commissarjr, committer, com- 
missioner. Cooper apparently should 
be hooper, as that mechanic does not 
make c^ops but hoops, and probably 
the pi'oper name Hooper had this 
origin. A drinker keeps drinking, 
but not so hard as the drunkard. A 
driver of a drove does not necessarily 
own it, but the drover. A daysman 
may be a deemster or a doomsman. 
A drawer may draw or be drawn, and 
so a drawee, but not a draughtsman. 
A feeder is a fosterer (food-sterer) or 
a fodderer, and possibly he is in father 
or a fattener. We may have a firer, 
or a fireman, or an incendiary ; or a 
fire-eater, such as the historian says 
is a regular descendant of the old 
northern Berserkers, who swallowed 
live coals. We have voglers, fowlers, 
bird-catchors, and bird-men. We 
have fisher, fish- man, and, which is 


History in Wordr, 


singular, both in one, flsh-er-man, as 
well as his i3sh-woman and fish-wife. 
Gamble, gamesters and gamblers are 
among us. Hawkers and hucksters 
and hookers yet exist. Our ances- 
tors had mucia to do with herds of 
various kinds, and their wives and 
daughters helped them in the busi- 
ness, for they had a herder and a 
herdess, herd-man, herdsman, herd- 
groom ; cow-boy, cow-herd, hog-herd, 
swine-herd, goat-herd, shepherd ; 
but the women had the care of the 
sheep only, and doubtless there were 
among some of our female ancestors 
in England, Scotland, France, Ger- 
many, or wherever they came from, 
as beautiful shepherdesses as Rachel 
who kept her father's sheep in Padan 
Aram. They did not keep herds of 
mules or asses in their days, we infer. 
But we find horsemen and chevaliers, 
and cavaliers and cavalry, and the 
age of chivalry, and since that dra- 
gooners. Host and hostess, hoteler 
and hotel-keeper survive. Hunter, 
huntress, sportsman. 

We use halters and holders ; we 
have upholders, upholsters, and up- 
holsterers. Hangers and hangmen 
are on hand when needed. Heirs 
and inheritors and legatees take pro- 
perty by descent from kindred and 
kinsmen ; and they make business 
for lawers, lawyers and lawmen. 
And so we might go on to speak of 
the great civilizer of modern times, 
soap, and mention the launders, 
launderers, laundresses, the washer- 
women, so useful in these days when 
we do not know of any washer-men ; 
though it is strange that we do some- 
times have a man-milliner ; and we 
suppose it is because some part of 
the trade is too arduous for females, 
for milliners seem to be otherwise 
exclusively of the feminine gender. 
Murderers and murderesses both 
commit murder, but if the object of 
the hate of either be a wo7nan, it is 
just as much man-slaughter as if one 
of the other sex were killed ; and the 
guilty party is not a slaughter-man, 
nor slaughterer, nor butcher. There 
were formerly, when beer was a com- 
mon drink, malt-men and malsters. 

A merchant-man is not, as we might 
suppose, a man at all, but a female 
that sails on the ocean ; but sJie has 
changed her sex since the days of the 
potent King James, when (Matthew 
13:45 "a merchantman (was) seeking 
goodly pearls." He was then a 
trader, store-keeper, shopman, or 
peddler. Messengers, messagers, 
commissioners, and missionaries are 
often sent for one purpose or another. 
The cow that is a good milker gives 
milk in great quantity when the milk- 
maid is a good milker to get it, and 
her father, the milk-man, or her 
mother, the milk-woman, carries it 
to market and sells it. 

We do not regard the muleteer and 
the mule-driver as the same : the 
former seems to be the one who 
keeps, owns and lets out mules, (and 
so the dictionaries define the Latin 
mulio ;) but from the habit of the own- 
er in driving his own team the two 
terms came to mean the same thing. 

Monitor and monster both admon- 
ish us, but in different ways. A 
ready payer of wages is a good pay- 
master. Practisants, practisers, prac- 
titioners, whether of law, or of den- 
tistry, or medicine, they continue 
their business without interruption ; 
and the latter are aided by the drug- 
gers, or drugsters, or druggists. 
Trenchers are not only wooden plates, 
but officiate as diggers and ditchers. 
The recorder keeps a register. Sellers 
act as venders, or salesmen, but no 
saleswomen had a hand in the work 
formerly : they were, however, spin- 
ners and spinsters, and laid hold of 
the distaff. 

Speakers, speech-makers and 
spokes-men (no spokes-women) as 
well, though the latter, from the im- 
perfect tense of the verb, is an un- 
common case. Singer, it is said, 
once had his help-meet, singress ; 
but she has departed and sent a 
songstress to keep company with her 
mates, the songsters of the groves, 
as well as of our choirs : and no 
doubt they make just as good music 
as Solomon's "men-singers and 
women-singers," or the "two hun- 
dred and forty-five singing men and 


History in Words. 


sino-ino- women" that Nehemiah. had. webber, webster and weaver. The 
If a man soys any thing, he is not a white man has whitener, whiter, 
sajer of it, unless a sooth-sayer ; and whitster ; but in this country we 
there are more women diviners than need one word here, for the present 
men : though it may be doubted generation has gone beyond the for- 
whether the days of witches and wiz- mer ones ; arid this side of the' At- 
ards are past. lantic we need a whittler. Our 

From smitheiy it would seem that youngsters in their youth are pro- 
there ought once to have been a smith- ficients in the art, and practice it 
er as well as a smiter. Perhaps the th after they cease to be yonkers. 
in smith is the same as t in poet, th in We have in our workshops, fore- 
death ; lit in wright, a workman ; tJi men, bosses, overseers, master-work- 
in Kohel-eth in Hebrew, a preacher, men, superintendents, etc. We have 
But we can dispense with smither, physicists, physician, physiologist; 
as we have so extensive a femily of star-gazers, astrologers, and astrono- 
smiths, both white and black ; and mers. The clergyman (clerk-man) 
they have a good deal to do with stands in the pulpit and preaches, 
irv/i, both as forgers, founders, while often in this country the clerk 
mongers, masters, and artificers in it. sits below and leads the music. No 
They deal in gold, too, as gilders doubt many surnames originated in 
and gold-beaters ; silversmiths, bra- denominating men from their trade 
ziers, brass-founders, plumbers, pew- or profession. And some of these 
terers, tinners, tinmen, are all useful ; terms have thus been perpetuated 
stannaters have not migrated to this which otherwise have fallen away, 
country. And some of the more re- and are not found in ordinary die- 
cent metals are too young to have tionaries ; Burder, Webster, Brews- 
a special workman ; and must depend ter, Baxter (bake-ster). Hooper, etc. ; 
upon the metallurgist. Zinc, how- and since the Norman conquest we 
ever, has found an engraver with the need a dictionary to give us the mean- 
euphonious title of zincographer. ing and origin of surnames ; it would 
Perhaps the original idea was to have show that some who hold their heads 
a smith for each of those metals that very high came from a source about 
were beaten out into plates by ham- the same as Adam and the rest of us. 
mering, as gold, silver, brass, copper, At first we might have supposed that 
iron. But then lead and tin would ma?i would come in to avoid the in- 
be deficient. A striker often accom- harmonious recurrence of er, as in 
panies a smith, and also a strokes- pewterer, venderer, upholsterer, mur- 
man ; and they would hit much derer, but such is not the fact, and 
harder than a stroker, though very the two have come in from different 
nearly related. sources, or have originally existed 

Our forefathers not only kept cat- side by side. And in some cases we 
tie and wrought the metals, etc., but see both in the same word to give it 
they were shippers, ship-men, ship- greater intensity or to distinguish the 
masters, sailors, seamen, seafaring gender more fully; fish-er-man, wash- 
men, seafarers, mariners, etc. Seam- er-woman, man-milliner^ man-mid- 
sters and seamstresses help the wife. At first view, and from what 
tailors' to make our clothing. Travel- we are accustomed to in the classical 
ers and wayfarers visit the taverners languages, we should regard er as 
and tavern-keepers, and call upon distinctively masculine, but then 
the tavern-men ; but the highway- often it means an agent or actor, as 
men do not. Thrower and throwster ; heater, keeper, where sex does not 
watch, watchman, watcher, wake- come into view ; and if we have gen- 
man ; wheeler, wheel-wright ; wagon- itor and genitrix, songster and song- 
er, who drives, and wagon wright, stress, we have also father, mother, 
who makes wagons, are all important, brother, sister, heifer, (pater, mater, 
So are whipper and whipster ; web frater, soror, mulier, etc.) In milli- 


History in Words. 


ner and spinster it seems to have been 
exclusively given to females. 

As to s and st, when they come 
between the root of a word and the 
ending, as in spin-st-er, song-st-er- 
ess, spoke-s-man, several observations 
may be made. 

1. They are mere euphonic iraion 
sounds, to connect the termination to 
the root, as we have so often in the 
case endings in Latin and Greek, and 
in the personal endings of verbs. 
When from deficiency of derivation 
we make a new term by composition, 
as rail-road, locomotive, and the parts 
do not readily coalesce, we naturally 
aid the voice by inserting a sound be- 
tween; we see it probably in such 
words as jack-a-napes, mount-e- 
bank, man-ni-kin, harps-i-cliord, 
night-in-gale, hand-i-craftsman : so 
in the Bible, Ab-i-melek. 

But they seem to have traveled 
along from the East with our language 
and the kindred ones ; apparently it 
is in Zoroa-st-er, and in shaster ; 
claustrum, Latin, our cloister ; in 
Greek in Homer's day causteer, our 
caustic, burner, etc. And though as 
Horace saj^s, great Homer sometimes 
sleeps, we think he knew how to use 
his awn language; and that with a 
multitude of words in -ster before 
his eyes in perhaps his Uoenty lan- 
guages, the great American lexicogra- 
pher, though generally so trust- 
worthy, must have been nodding 
when he derived this termination in 
spinster from the word steer. 

This is almost equal to Cicero's 
derivation of Jides^ faith, from fio, to 
be made or done. But the poet ad- 
mits that slumber may creep over a 
man in a long work. 

When s alone, however, is inserted, 
it may-at least sometimes be regarded 
in the light above mentioned, and 
perhaps in such words as craft-s-man ; 
and we think it will be found that this 
letter always comes between conso- 
nant sounds. 

2. They may be considered as in- 
tensive double terminations^ just as 
in fish-er-man. We have t as in 
poet; th in smith; ist^ as druggist, 
pugilist ; er in heater : now we want 

TOL. I. — NO. II. 

to make a strong term, and we will 
put two or three of these together, 
spin-ner, but spin-st-er; drugg-er 
druggist, but drug-gist-er, drug-ster 
by contraction. So in some words 
we have a double plural ending, as in 
childer, as many old women say in 
the up-country of Carolina, which is 
a plural ; and then we add -en, as in 
oxen, childer-en=children. Perhaps 
something of this kind has taken 
place in brethren. 

3. In some cases, the s at the end 
of the first part of the compound may 
be regarded as a plural sign, to gene- 
ralize the word. 

It is said that the plural is used 
for the singular when a thing is gene- 
rally spoken of It denotes what 
agent does, not on one particular oc- 
casion, but repetition, custom, habit : 
Bill-yards, spokes-man, steers-man, 
craftsman, etc. We probably see the 
same thing in bitters, greens, salts; 
sharps, blunts, betweens, spoken of 
kinds of needles : so we say of one 
pair of shoes, " they are rights and 
lefts." So when an individual name 
becomes a surname (literally, over- 
name) and covers many individuals, 
we somehow feel the necessity of add- 
ing an s to it, especially if it is a 
short one. Thus John John, Peter 
Peter, Andrew Andrew would not 
do ; we should unconsciously feel the 
incongruity ; we fpel that there is 
something wrong about it ; but John 
Johns, Peter Peters, Andrew An- 
drews, pass us by without notice. 
Possibly, however, in some cases, the 
s may be a remnant of the word son, 
corresponding to the prefix 0, Mac, 
Fitz, Ap, etc., as Richards, Richard- 
son, Pritchard, (=ap-Richard,) and 
MacRichard, if there were such a 
name would all be the same. We once 
knew a family called in the commu- 
nity Parsons ; but in old books in 
their house of one or two generations 
back the name was Pierson, and this 
we take to be Peterson, and perhaps 
MacPheeters : but somehow by not 
only contracting the first part, but 
then changing the diphthong, it was 
felt needful to add the s to the end 
by way of compensation, or robbing 


History in Words. 


Peter to pay Paul. So Peters, Pierson, 
Peterson, MacPheeters, and Peterkin, 
Perkin, Perkins, Parsons may all be 
the same. The idea we speak of 
now may be illustrated from the word 
spokes-man ; which is formed not fro nr 
the present, nor from the perfect par- 
ticiple, but from the imperfect tense ; 
and perhaps from the same idea once 
accompanying that tense, of frequency 
of action as in Latin and Greek. The 
word is found only once in the Bible, 
Ex. 4:16. When Moses was com- 
missioned to go into Egypt, he com- 
plained that he could not speak in 
public; that part of his education had 
been neglected at the "court of Pha- 
raoh; he was, as he said, "heavy of 
mouth, and heavj^ of tongue," and he 
had the promise that Aaron should be 
his spokesman. But in the original 
this is not a nou7i^ but a verb, in the 
conjugation that indicates frequency 
of action, like dictito in Latin : " he 
shall speak habitually for thee." So 
marksman. And as in many of these 
cases in many languages the repeti- 
tion of a syllable in a word accom- 
plishes the same as this s at the end, 
the same may be the case with some 
of these terms, as practitioner, one 
who keeps practising medicine, as 
compared with practiser, which we 
would regard as long enough. The 
same thing in amount is seen in the 
daily papers, in the abbreviations, 
bbls., pps., for barrels and pages. 

4. Some of this class of words 
may be regarded as genitives, either 
singular or plural, and equivalent 
to attributive adjectives, which they 
seem to be without the s, but some- 
times with a very different meaning. 
Bond-man, and bondsman are both 
under bonds, and so is boundman, 
but all in different senses. A slave 
is the-fu'st, one who gives bail is the 
second, and an apprentice is the third. 
Townsmen may be town's-men, fi'om 
the same town ; or towns'-men, from 
different towns ; or town-men, citi- 
zens, may be opposed to country- 
men, rustics. This will not hold 
where the nouns are not formed by 
composition with other nouns, but 
directly from the verb, which has no 

such noun; as we saw just now in 
spokesman; there is no noun steer 
in that sense, but steerer and steers- 
man. We have breaker from the 
present tense, broker from the imper- 
fect, and from the same, brakeman. 
So drive, driver ; drove, drover ; but 
we use drove as a noun, but not 
broke; seller, sales-man. 

We see the thoughts and senti- 
ments of men reflected from their 
daily speech, as well as in the solid 
monuments of brass or granite or 
marble. Their pursuits, employ- 
ments, and habits, too, are manifest. 
While in Egypt and in parts of the 
East, spinning and weaving was, in 
ancient times, assigned exclusively 
to men ; on the other hand, our Sax- 
on, Celtic, and Norman ancestors do 
not seem to think that men can en- 
gage in this. Worcester, at the word 
woman, says, "Man is a general term 
to include each sex, and in Anglo- 
Saxon, the specific name wif-man is 
given to the female from her employ- 
ment at the woof, (A. S., weft, wefan,) 
and wsep-man to the male, from 
his occupation in weapons of war." 
Marsh, in his Lectures on the Eng- 
lish Language, informs us that in the 
northern languages of Europe, in the 
line of descent, sword-side and spin- 
dle-side stand for father's and moth- 
er's side. In the will of Alfred, 
spear-side and spindle-side are used 
in the saime way ; and the Salic law 
in France, excluding females from the 
throne, says : " The crown does not 
descend to the distaff." 

In the Bible, especially in Prov. 
31 : 13, 19, we find these employ- 
ments the province of women. We 
have seen that milliner and spinster 
are peculiarly feminine. 

Coleridge says that "there are 
cases in which more knowledge and 
of more value may be conveyed by 
the history of a word, than by the 
history of a campaign." 

And some one remarks that "a 
good dictionary is the best metaphys- 
ical treatise." Why should there be 
so great difference between courtier, 
" one who frequents the courts of 
princes," and its corresponding 


History in Words. 


"courtesan;" and how came the lat- 
ter to have the bad odor attached to 
it but from the fact that for ages, the 
courts of England and France — of 
the Jameses, and the Charleses, and 
the Georges, of Louis XIV., and of 
Louis XV., etc. — were scenes of de- 
bauchery, corruption, and impurity; 
and appropriate places to make and 
to keep all sucli vile characters as 
specially '■'■'belonging to the court,'''' 
and nowhere else ; as Bailey in his 
dictionary defines the word? 

We have plough-men, and plough- 
boy, but not plough - woman and 
plough - girl. We have neat-herd, 
(cattle in general,) cow-herd, swine- 
herd, goat-herd, herds-men ; but so 
far as language shows, the women at- 
tended to the sheep only, for we have 
shepherds and shepherdesses. And 
when the cattle and sheep came up 
at night, the shepherdess became 
milk-maid, and brought out her pail. 
We have a singular metamorphosis 
in the word master, (Latin, magis- 
ter,) whereby it becomes mister ; Mr. 
John Smith is master of his trade ; 
in relation to his "5(?ys" he is no 
longer master ; and they have be- 
come their own masters, and misters 
in relation to others ; while little 
John Smith, Jr., is master John 
Smith ; and his mother, Mrs. John 
Smith, is mistress of her own fami- 
ly, and not of any outside of it. 
Where Mr. John Smith is master, 
just so far Mistress John Smith is 

The a here got into i, probably 
from being used simply as a prefix to 
the proper name ; on account of the 
stress of voice hastening on to strike 
the name to sound that, as we con- 
tinually shorten the vowel in the first 
part of a compound. Thus, not 
sheep-herd, but shepherd ; ball-yards 
is bill-yards ; cat, kitten ; wide, width; 
goose, gosling ; hawker, huckster ; 
Saint-Clair, Sinclair, or Sincler ; Saint 
John, Sinjon. 

It may be said that we " have been 
at a great feast of languages, and 
have stolen the scraps, or that we 
have lived in the alms - basket of 
words ;" that this is laborious trifling ; 

and that it "can be proved to our 
faces that we have men about us that 
usually talk of a noun, and a verb, 
and such abominable words as no 
Christian can hear." But God at- 
tends to little things when he num- 
bers the hairs of our heads, and 
when he forms insects perfect organ- 
isms, of which 500,000,000 can find 
sea-room in a drop of water ; and 
when he forms the tiniest flower as 
well as the mightiest globe, or the 
highest archangel. From the least 
things the greatest often originate. 
Men of the greatest intellects are 
most attentive to minutia3, and show 
their greatness in details. The ad- 
dition or subtraction of a syllable, of 
a comma, of the letter s in a will, a 
deed or other document, where life or 
property is concerned, might hang a 
man, or deprive him of any amount 
of money ; it might alter the value 
of an inheritance by millions. And 
not only so, we apprehend error in 
theology may be taught. Terms 
have their distinctive meaning fixed 
by usage. In Heb. 7 : 22, Christ is 
called our surety, bondsman, sponsor. 
Now, some persons put the word 
Tjondman there instead of 'bondsman ; 
but bondman is a slave — with the s 
and without the s, they are difi'erent 
words with the same generic idea, 
and must not be confounded. Not 
only the English dictionaries keep 
them wide apart, but the Eng. -Latin 
gives for bond-man, servus, mancip- 
ium, a slave, one taken captive in 
war. But it gives for bondsman, vas, 
praes, sponsor, satisdator, one bound 
for another, one that gives bail. The 
Bible throughout uses bondman ; so 
also Shakespeare, and all the old 
writers. Hence, some recent writers, 
who interchange these words are in 
an error. And so great a work as 
The Life of Paul, by Conybeare and 
Howson, in several cases in the intro- 
duction to his epistles, makes the great 
apostle to the gentiles call himself, 
"Paul, a bondsman of God;" but in 
the proper sense of that word He 
does not need, and can not have a 
bondsman, but a servant or slave. 
We see everywhere in language, the 


Eevieic of '■'■Romola.'''' 


illustration and confirmation of the 
truth of the Bible with regard to the 
origin of the human race. Man comes 
firsi:, and woman follows. The terms 
conform to the original model and ex- 
emplar. The first man was ish, (from 
which perhaps came, vis, vir, er, etc.) 
and the first woman was named by 
kh, from himself, by adding a dis- 
tinctive letter, ish-a ; and from this 
no doubt has come ess, as in poetess ; 
lad, ladess, lass. So in Latin, vir, 
vir-a (as in vir-ago ;) ille, ilia, he, she : 
ho-min-is, foe-min-a ; as if heman, 
sheman, man, woman, the counter- 
part of man; reg-s, reg-ina; king, 
queen; basileus, basilissa ; male, 
female; the Hebrew has ish-on=man- 
nikin, Latin, ho-munculus, diminutive 
of man. The Sanscrit too has isha, 
master, ishi, mistress. Latin caius, 
caia is similar, and dominus, domina. 
Czar, czarina, in Russia. And in the 
same way we have a great number of 
words that add the feminine termina- 
tion to the masculine to denote the fe- 
male. In abbot, abbess, it seems to be 
otherwise, but ab, abba, father is the 
root. Actor, actress ; baron, baroness ; 
Jew, Jewess ; negro, negress ; but mu- 
latto does not seem to need any. Lion, 
lioness ; songster, songstress ; and it 
is said that singer once had singeress. 
Hero, heroine ; but in Greek, heroissa. 
Prince, princess, in Hindostan, rajah, 
rajni, corresponding to rex, regina. 
And we have no doubt but that if we 
could get at the origin of the words, 
our King and Queen would corre- 

spond. The former may be compared 
with the oriental Khan, and the latter 
with Sanscrit Kanya. There are cases 
where the words for the male and the 
counterpart female are independent of 
each other, but in general it is just as 
it was at the beginning, when the 
woman was made after the man and 
for him ; so the terms for female are 
after those for the opposite sex, and 
founded on them. This does not ne- 
cessarily imply inferiority, for, as 
Milton says, " What God after better, 
worse would build?" "The wife 
shines with her husband's lustre." 

We see that this composite charac- 
ter of our language renders it more 
copious, and more exact. Very few 
terms are exactly synonymous ; each 
acquires at length its own meaning 
and retains it. They give us the op- 
portunity to diversify style and ex- 
pression. A historian says of a cer- 
tain country : " The inhabitants are 
tribes of hunters, herdsmen, and ag- 
riculturists ; united by their common 
worship of Amnion, and commercial 
relations." He might have said, 
"huntsmen, herdsmen, and husband- 
men," or, "hunters, graziers, and 
farmers" — or "men who live by the 
chase, raise cattle, and till the soil." 
So the historians employ, in reference 
to those conquering races in the mid- 
dle ages, from the north of Europe, 
the terms, Scandinavians, Northern- 
ers, Norsemen, Northmen ; or they 
make a regular plural Normans. 

Pkof. E. F. R. 


It is always pleasant to recur to 
that region of romance — fair Italy. 
That-it was so to the great masters 
of English fiction from age to age, 
and so continues to be, is a fact well 
known to the reader. From the 
days when Chaucer roamed through 
the pleasant land of Lombardy, and, 
lingering long in the society of the 
great Florentine, gleaned from his 
lips sweet talcs to transfer to his 
own unlettered land, where, clothed 

in the garb of English song, they 
Avon for him undying fame, English 
poets and English novelists have 
delighted in seeking these classic 
haunts. Classic they are in a dou- 
ble sense ; for, not only Ennius and 
Virgil, Catullus and Horace and Ovid, 
have breathed their sweetness over 
them, but Dante, Petrarca, and Tas- 
so, Ariosto, Boiardo, and Filicaia 
have touched the lyre to wondrous 
melodies beneath the same soft skies 


Review of '■'■Eomolay 


— skies whose beauty has survived 
so much of proud and fair that has 
long since gone to decadence. If 
that favored land could boast in the 
days of its ancient state a literature 
that reflected, and could nobly re- 
flect, the high excellence of that 
which glorious Greece had produced, 
it could also boast in after days, 
when all Europe else was sunk in 
barbarism, historians, poets, philoso- 
phers, and novelists, whose names 
are still bright stars shining through 
the darkness of ages. It possesses 
as well the age of the Medici and of 
Leo X., as that of the dying republic 
of Rome and that of Augustus. The 
mantle worn by Sallust, by Livy, 
and by Tacitus, remaining through 
many decades of starved and scant- 
robed lore unworn, adorned at last 
the shoulders of Macchiavelli, of 
Guicciardini, of Villani, and of Bot- 
ta. Through all time Italy has been 
famous as a literaiy land ; and, even 
in the domain of pure fiction — so 
modern an art in its present form, 
that England, Germany, and France 
claim to be almost alone in its suc- 
cessful cultivation — she does not want 
illustrious examples of excellence. 
With Boccaccio as the great origin- 
ator, and Manzoni as the triumphant 
perfecter, she may show a long line 
of beautiful and tasteful contribu- 
tions to the great store-house of fic- 
tion, which worthily vindicate her 
claim to the appreciative homage of 
those who love and honor genius in 
this department of literature. 

Possessed of such a connected 
chain of intellectual trophies; bear- 
ing in her bosom the ruins of the 
mighty monuments of her by-gone 
power — sad witnesses to a glory 
overthrown ; linked as her history is 
with the destinies of those nations 
who most fitly represent the pro- 
gressive portion of the human race ; 
blessed with a lovely sky and a 
delicious climate, with enchanting 
scenery and a picturesque peasantry, 
no wonder that beautiful Italy should 
be sought by our great artists in 
every department in which the efforts 
of genius take rank, as classic ground 

and fit scene for muse-inspired la- 

Impelled by this instinctive im- 
pulse, the author of those deservedly 
admired works, "Adam Bede," and 
"Mill on the Floss," has been led by 
the gentle beck of imagination into 
fair Florence, there to witness and to 
gather into memory's cells the inci- 
dents of that sad story which she 
(for "George Eliot" is universally 
believed to be a lady) tells so well. 

The proem to "Romola" is a 
glowing strain of reminiscence, recur- 
ring in lofty diction and picturesque 
coloring to the glorious past of Flor- 
ence ; and is deeply imbued with the 
spirit of philosophic poetry. The 
scene of the tale is laid in the fif- 
teenth century, just after the death 
of Lorenzo de' Medici, surnamed the 
Magnificent. "We will not pursue 
the thread of the narrative, as the in- 
terest of the story is of too painful a 
nature to be needlessly obtruded 
upon our readers ; but will rest con- 
tent with brief allusions to the char- 
acters introduced. The heroine, first, 
by all the rules of gallantry, must be 
presented to the public, though the 
author takes an opposite course, and 
begins with the adventvires of the 
hero. The lovely Romola, with ra- 
diant hair of the true golden tint, and 
that delicate ripple which lends such 
beauty to maidens' tresses, of stately 
form, c[ueenly mien, and resolute 
soul, is a young lady, proud and re- 
served by nature, innocent of all 
knowledge of the outer world through 
the cloistered seclusion in which she 
has passed her youth alone with her 
father, but versed in no scant meas- 
ure in that ancient learning which 
she has drunk in at her father's side 
from earliest years. 

That father, Bardo de' Bardi, the 
poor, blind old scholar, who mourn- 
fully regrets the fame he has toiled 
so many years to win, and which he 
fears has slipped away from him ir- 
retrievably, is a fine picture, worthy 
to be put on canvas by one of the 
old masters. He loves his daughter 
very dearly, and she in her turn is 
devoted to him. But, as soon as she 


Review of ^'■Romolay 


beholds the handsome stranger, a 
new and utterly different kind of love 
enters her heart and possesses it; 
and Tito Melema soon wins her to 
consent to become his bride. The 
first love-scene between Tito and 
Romola is very brief and very beau- 
tiful. The simple "I love you" is 
almost all that is said ; and it is so 
frankly and tenderly said on both 
sides, that hardly any thing can be 
more pleasant, hardly any thing could 
be more sweetly told. Such calm 
and serene happiness it is a joy mere- 
ly to witness ; and it fills the bosom 
of the reader with a silent gush of 
emotion very pleasant to experience. 
That old tale of love is ever fresh to 
the human heart. Ever anew the 
warm thrill of sympathy vibrates in 
accord with its swell of gladness. 
But our sense of pleasure in this 
union of young hearts makes our in- 
dignation all the greater, when we 
see this union destroyed and this 
happiness marred forever. Here, 
however, the innate rectitude of Ro- 
mola' s character is well brought out. 
When she discovers the cold and 
calculating spirit of her husband, her 
heart, full of fervid and impassioned 
sentiments of faith and honor, which 
are the very life of her being, shrinks 
from him as convicted of faithlessness 
and treachery. She scorns him for 
his heartless duplicity and spirit of 
selfish intrigue, and becomes miser- 
able from the necessity which asso- 
ciates her with one whom she has 
learned to loathe and despise. This 
character — that, we mean, of her hus- 
band, Tito Melema — is ably conceiv- 
ed. An Apulian of Greek extrac- 
tion, he is learned, handsome, gentle, 
and courteous, every thing that seems 
noble, and is capable of leading a 
very virtuous life, if not tempted by 
the needs of an eminently selfish na- 
ture. But, tempted, he falls into one 
mean and ungrateful act of subservi- 
ence to his personal gratification, and 
from that time progresses in evil, 
until he gradually becomes vicious 
to the core. His love of reticence, a 
discreet trait not generally character- 
istic of heroes depicted in fiction, is 

from the first an indication of the 
cautious, diplomatic nature, ever 
watchful for the security of one's 
own interests, which, indulged in to. 
excess, must tend to increase the 
growth of selfishness. This, indeed, 
he fosters day by day, and encour- 
ages by one sacrifice after another of 
truth and honor. Gifted with a tal- 
ent for profound dissimulation, all 
the unscrupulous facility in intrigue, 
all the passionless policy and supple 
art, which have been imputed to Nic- 
cold Macchiavelli, are his. In fine, 
the attributes of a gifted diplomatist 
are ascribed to him, as the endow- 
ment of nature, while circumstance 
and temptation ripen him at last into 
an arch-traitor. But through all his 
guilty career he carries the curse of 
crime with him. Brilliant in youth- 
ful beauty, learning, courtesy, and 
skillful policy, but false and heart- 
less, he is haunted by fear and all 
the pleasures won by his wonderful 
ability bear with them the poison of 
coming retribution. Romola's tale 
to the boy Lillo, at the end of the 
book, puts Tito's sad and shameful 
history into the best and most forci- 
ble words ; and to quote them is to 
give the most concise account of the 
moral aim of this work. 

"There was a man," she says, "to 
whom I was very near, so that I 
could see a great deal of his life, who 
made almost every one fond of him, 
for he was young and clever and 
beautiful, and his manners to all 
were gentle and kind. I believe, 
when I first knew him, he never 
thought of doing any thing cruel or 
base. But, because he tried to slip 
away from every thing that was un- 
pleasant, and cared for nothing else 
so much as his own safety, he came 
at last to commit some of the basest 
deeds — such as make men infamous. 
He denied his father, and left him to 
misery ; he betrayed every trust that 
was reposed in him, that he might 
keep himself safe and get rich and 
prosperous. Yet calamity overtook 

The minor fictitious characters are 
also well drawn. The grim and cyn- 


jRemeiD of '■'■Romola.'''' 


ical painter, Piero di Cosimo, who has 
such keen msight through men's 
faces into their hearts, is a fine sketch 
of a crusty old bachelor with a true 
heart under his rough exterior ; and 
we commend him to the favorable at- 
tention of those benighted beings 
who claim aflBliation with him in his 
lonely lot. 

The witty barber, Nello, of mer- 
curial temperament and easy good- 
nature, is admirably sketched ; and 
we should like to have witnessed the 
specimen he gave of a Florentine 
joke. Nello is tinctured with some 
share of erudition, and boasts a shop 
frequented by the master-spirits of 
the age. He is a philosopher, and 
sports a theory, in which he reposes 
unshaken faith, that the shaving of 
. the chin enhances, in a wondrous de- 
gree, the mind's subtle apperception 
of truths, and quickens all the facul- 
ties into fresher vitality and unwont- 
ed vigor. 

Two characters, very unlike each 
other, but both conveying to the 
reader a gratifying sense of their per- 
fect naturalness, are those of pretty 
little Tessa, the peasant-girl, who 
likes Tito's kisses so well, and is so 
simple in her frank admiration of his 
handsome face ; and poor Monna 
Brigida, whose garrulous and worldly 
gay widow's talk is so rich a treat, 
that we feel sincerely sorry for her, 
when, transformed into a Piagnone, 
(or " Methody,") she is stripped of 
all her fineries, and frightened so re- 
luctantly into turning her back on 
the pleasures of the worM. 

The vengeful nature of the South- 
ern Italian is well depicted in the 
person of Baldassarre Calvo, after 
Tito had committed the ingratitude, 
first, of failing to attempt his ransom, 
and then, of disowning and refusing 
to recognize him, when he returned to 
Italy in wretchedness and a prisoner. 

Among the great characters of the 
age introduced, is that sardonic wit, 
astute politician, and elegant writer, 
Niccolo Macchiavelli, whose wise 
apophthegms have not availed to res- 
cue him from the evil character as- 
cribed to him by popular opinion, 

even to this day, of being the great 
master of that wicked craft, which 
the Satanic Cassar Borgia practiced 
with such success. 

Another figure, which moves to 
the foreground and becomes instinct 
with life under the plastic tovich of 
the artist's hand, is that of the en- 
thusiast, Savonarola, the fervid and 
impassioned preacher of monastic re- 
form and popular revival of religious 
zeal, who passed through so singular 
a career and attained such extraordi- 
nary power in those days of half- 
pagan civilization. 

This summary exhausts all the 
characters of interest in the book. 
The grouping is everywhere artistic, 
and the accounts given of striking 
street scenes are really masterly. 
Her power of delineation is unques- 
tionably great. The description of 
the Festival of San Giovanni is the 
most elaborate of these sketches. 
Its gay and gallant ceremonial, the 
gorgeous procession, the brilliant 
banners, the rich trappings of the 
steeds, the handsome draperies grace- 
fully suspended from the walls, the 
joyous throngs of the populace, the 
stately cavalcade, the merry-making 
and the feasting ; all fall with taste- 
ful ease and elegance into the thread 
of our author's narrative, and enrich 
the tale with that bright coloring 
which always pleases the eye of the 
mind, as in another form of art the 
eye of the body is pleased wit'n a 
similar glow and splendor. Cennini, 
one of the casual characters, makes 
a wise remark about these same gala 
occasions, which we can not refrain 
from quoting: "There has been no 
great people," says he, " without 
processions ; and the man who thinks 
himself too wise to be moved by them 
to any thing but contempt is like the 
puddle that was proud of standing 
alone, while the river rushed by.'? 

In this very account of the great 
Florentine festival may be remarked, 
more prominently noticeable even 
than elsewhere, the author's charac- 
teristic habit of noting with a some- 
what satirical undercurrent of hu- 
mor, and a minute particularity, the 


Adele St. Maur. 


little incidents of life and manners 
among the vulgar, as she proceeds 
Avith the thread of her story. 

The story itself is simple enough. 
It is briefly this : Just at the period 
v.'hen the cultivators of literature and 
the arts, then newly revived, were 
lamenting the recent death of their 
great patron, Lorenzo the Magnifi- 
cent, an adventurer of noble and 
fascinating person comes to Florence 
and wins the love of the beautiful 
Romola, and, at the same time, the 
good-will of many powerful Floren- 
tines, likely to be serviceable as pa- 
trons. While in the full tide of suc- 
cess, he receives intelligence of the 
captivity of his adopted father, whose 
gems had furnished him with the 
means which gave him his first 
" coign of vantage " in the strange 
city, and to whom he had also been 
indebted for that learning which had 
helped to secure him the smiles of 
fortune. Instead of hastening to de- 
vote himself to the task of ransom- 
ing his benefactor, he selfishly stays 

in Florence to enjoy the favors fast 
showered upon him by the blind 
goddess. This first wrong-doing 
enters into his soul and sullies his 
•conscience. Graduall}^, but surely, 
he falls into a net of entangling mor- 
al problems, from which he can not 
extricate himself. Selfish ends be- 
come the supreme law of his nature ; 
and he commits, for their further- 
ance, one base act after another, un- 
til his wife discovers with disgust 
the obliquity of his moral nature, 
and is forever alienated from him. 
To domestic unhappiness his wily 
schemes add other elements produc- 
tive of evil results, until all the long 
train of his wicked designs culmi- 
nates in a miserable death. 

Romola, after this troubled early 
life, then glides into a serene calm 
of soul, with which the book ends. 

It is written with great power, but 
we do not like so much sadness, es- 
pecially when the trouble all comes 
from the unmitigated rascality of 
the hero. 



Adele's father had a sister in Scot- 
land who had married a " penniless 
laird wi' a lang pedigree," and, as 
soon as this lady heard of Adele's 
arrival in England, she wrote to Sir 
Alfred, requesting him and his whole 
family to visit her, including Mrs. 
Cecil, who had been an old school- 
friend of Lady IngHs. The invitation 
was accepted, to Adele's great de- 
light, for, next to England, she loved 
Scotland. She had read tales of 
Scottish chivalry and romance until 
her mind contained many vivid pic- 
tures of the hills and dales, lochs and 
rivers, among which her heroes and 
heroines had figured. Lady Inglis 
was many years older than Colonel 
St. Maur, and he had felt toward 
her rather as a son than a brother. 
Adele had so often heard him speak 
of "my sister Edith," and had so 

often studied the sweet face which 
had filled a small oval frame which 
had accompanied them in all their 
wanderings, and which now hung in 
her own little gem of a dressing.-room 
at Lanstead Abbey, that Aunt Edith 
was, instead of being a stranger, the 
dearest person in the world. Alfred 
Mowbray would accompany them to 
Scotland, but not to Castle Inglis ; 
he would spend a month or so w ith 
his friend, Harry Hamilton, whose 
father's estate lay in Argyleshire. 

Sir Alfred and his party reached 
the station two miles from Castle In- 
glis rather late in the afternoon. The 
beauty of the scenery around the 
station called forth many exclama- 
tions from Adele and Mrs. Cecil. 
There was a broad and beautiful val- 
ley, on one side of which glimmered 
through the old and majestic trees 


Adele St. Maur. 


the quiet waters of Loch D , 

and on the other side a towering, 
craggy, wooden height, and almost 
at its top appeared the towers of 
Castle Inglis, perched, like an eagle's 
nest, almost in the clouds. 

" grandpapa ! how shall we ever 
get up there ?" exclaimed Adele, with 
an amusing expression of alarm. Al- 
though the road to the castle made a 
circuit of two miles for the sake of 
an easy ascent, the old pile of build- 
ing appeared so near that the fantas- 
tic patterns of the lancet-shaped win- 
dows were distinctly visible. 

" We can send you up in a bal- 
loon, love," said her grandfather, 
smiling. " But here is your aunt's 
carriage ; we will endeavor to reach 
the castle in that." 

The road wound along the bank of 
the loch for some time, overshadowed 
by graceful trees, and then entered a 
dark grove of evei'greens. The as- 
cent from this point was so slight 
and gradual that Adele kept wonder- 
ing when "we would begin to go 
up the mountain ;" and when the 
carriage rolled through the heavy 
arched gateway, she was almost be- 
wildered, and felt as if she had been 
transferred thither by magic. 

" Surely, gTandpapa, this is not the 
castle we saw from the station ?" 

" It certainly is, my love." 

Adele's astonishment soon gave 
way to another and deeper feeling. 
Her aunt stood waiting to receive her, 
and so like, so strikingly like her 
own dear father, that Adele almost 
fainted as she fell into her arms. 
The beautiful portrait she had so 
often studied w^as Aunt Edith in 
her youth — age had dealt with her 
in the same way that sorrow had 
dealt with her young brother, leav- 
ing the same wrinkles upon the white 
brow, the same sadness in the blue 
eye. The sad, yearning cry which 
had so distressed her faithful Bernar- 
dina, "Papa! Papa!" broke from 
Adele's white lips, and Lady Inglis, 
who had loved her brother more 
than any other being on earth, 
clasped his child to her heart with a 
strange mixture of joy and pain. 

Miss Inglis, a step-daughter of Lady 
Inglis, was also there to welcome the 
party. She was neither young nor pret- 
ty, but gentle, sweet, and sprightly. 

Lady Inglis had been a widow for 
many years, and she and her step- 
daughter Ellen lived here alone. 
Her pastor and brother-in-law, the 
Rev. Dr. Inglis, was her nearest 
neighbor. This gentleman and a 
few ladies from the neighborhood 
joined them at dinner, and Sir Alfred 
seemed to enjoy himself thoroughly. 
Dr. Inglis was a gentleman of the old 
school, calm, polished, reticent, yet 
full of information. He never joked, 
rarely smiled, yet his face wore that 
calm expression of peace which made 
one feel that " happiness was too deep 
and holy a thing for mirth." 

Adele was happy too, yet she could 
not talk — it was all she could do to 
keep her eyes from overflowing with 
tears every time she looked at Aunt 

The next morning, when Adele 
came down to the library, she saw 
a gentleman standing in the deeply- 
recessed window reading a newspa- 
per. He was apparently much ab- 
^rbed, and did not notice Adele's 
entrance. He seemed quite young, 
scarcely twenty perhaps, but fully 
grown. His " short brown beard 
and curling hair" were of that rich, 
glossy. Iking hue so rarely seen ; his 
profile was as perfect as though 
wrought by a Grecian chisel ; and his 
lithe, sinewy form looked as if he 
would spring with the ease and the 
grace of a young tiger. Adele glanced 
again and again at the motionless 
figure, and at last, with a feeling akin 
to pique and dislike. " These very 
handsome people are always disagree- 
able, I think," was her thought when 
Miss Inglis entered. 

" Good moi'ning, Paul," said she 
to the young man. " Very polite of 
you to stand there reading the paper 
while Miss St. Maur is probably 
waiting to look over it !" 

"Oh!" said Paul, blushing and 
coming forward, "pray excuse me, I 
did not know that you ladies were in 
the room." 

140 Adele St. Maur. [June, 

'B^'Did not know !" said Miss Inglis, nate in the clouds, which rolled tu- 
catchino- one of his ringlets and giving multuousl}^ around this " island in the 
it a sniart pull; "that is almost as sky," as Adele called it. Jenny- 
unpardonable as 'did not care.' This Wren could have looked down from 
is your cousin Adele, whom fow have their aerial abode 'with the feeling of 
not seen before." " being much farther removed from the 

" Paul is the only son of my uncle, aifairs of earth than she could have 

Dr. Inglis," she explained to Adele. done from the old Jew's house-top 

Paul ofFeredhis hand, with a grace- garden among the smoking chimneys 

ful bow, to Adele, and talked to her of London. She could have said, 

very pleasantly until breakfast-time, " Come up and be dead," and rather, 

while Miss Inglis read the paper. " Come up and be in heaven," with- 

After breakfast they went out to out giving you any ghostly ideas. 

look at the place. Although from Under the spreading trees on the 

the valley below, the castle looked as lawn were numbers of easy rustic 

if built upon a crag, it was really seats, and Adele and Mrs. Cecil sat 

situated upon a natural terrace, which down to watch the strikingly beauti- 

gave space for a fine lawn, garden, ful effect of the sun and wind, dispel- 

and all the necessary yards of a large ling masses of clouds which lay 

establishment. On the north was a around the mountain. The blue sky 

wall of gray granite, rising perpen- began to appear in patches, becoming 

dicularly from this terrace, higher larger and larger, and at length the 

than the towers of the castle, and last cloud disappeared, and the val- 

fringed at the irregular summit with ley, the loch, and distant city were 

a fine mass of overhanging foliage, seen below. Stretching out, as far 

On the south lay the lawn, studded the eye could reach, lay the beauti- 

with splendid trees, and on this foggy ful land of Scotland, 
morning the lawn seemed to termi- 


Inglis church and manse lay to the 
east of the castle, and, after Adele 
had been here a few days, she ac- 
companied Miss Inglis over to the 
manse. They found Dr. Inglis and 
Paul in the garden, pruning some 
fruit-trees. Miss Inglis looked at 
their work with interest, for she was 
a connoisseur in gardening, and their 
large garden was a study, for it show- 
ed the hand of a master in the art in 
every part of it. Dr. Inglis and his 
son worked it entirely themselves, 
for they kept but two servants— old 
Jeannctte, who had lived with the 
Doctor for thirty years, and Andrew, 
who had grown gray in his service, 
and knew how to do everything but 
garden. The Doctor was in the habit 
of saying, that it was a law of nature 
that every man must perform enough 
work to earn his own bread by the 
sweat of his brow. "In the sweat 
of thy fiicc shall thou eat bread," 

said the Lord to Adam, and since 
Adam's day there is no evading this 
law. Work, or in more popular 
phrase, exercise, is necessary to 
health, and acting on this belief. Dr. 
Inglis had trained his son into a most 
accomplished gardener. 

Dr. Inglis had had heavy sorrow^s 
in his youth, and Paul, his youngest 
child, was the last remaining one of a 
once numerous and lovely family. 
Paul's life, however, had been all sun- 
shine : he had no recollection of the 
beautiful mother, whose portrait hung 
in their antique drawing-room ; no re- 
collection of the sweet group of bro- 
thers and sisters, which also hung 
there. The crushed heart of Dr. Inglis 
had turned all its energies to serving 
his God, and training this boy for hea- 
ven. And the beautiful, and to human 
eyes, the unsullied soul of the youth, 
who had just entered manhood, show- 
ed how the prayer-trained child be- 


Adele St. Maur. 


comes the God-fearing and God-lov- 
ing man. Dr. Inglis had, since the 
chastening hand of God had been so 
heavily laid upon him, literally and 
most faithfully obeyed the divine 
precept, " Thou shalt teach my 
words diligently unto thy children, 
and thou shalt talk of them when 
thou sittest in thine house, and when 
thou walkest by the way, and when 
thou liest down, and when thou 
risest up." So thoroughly was Paul 
imbued with this fear and love of God, 
that a less spiritually -minded parent 
would have thought that he had suc- 
ceeded almost too well, and that the 
young man was almost too indiffer- 
ent to the things of this life. En- 
thusiast he was, but practical too, and 
full of energy — no pale dreamer 
whose life had ebbed away into his 
books, but healthy, strong, and 
physically beautiful as Absalom, in 
whom was found no blemish from the 
crown of his head to the soul of his 
foot. Like Timothy, he had been 
instructed in the Scriptures, until 
every part of the holy book from 
Genesis to Revelation was almost 
as familiar to him as the alphabet. 
His knowledge of the Greek and 
Hebrew languages was so perfect that 
the most accomplished Greek and 
Hebrew scholars of Scotland, who 
were frequent guests at his father's 
house, were surprised at his pro- 
ficiency. "My boy must under- 
stand the Bible," was Dr. Inglis's 
frequent remark; " that is the busi- 
ness of his life." And strongly did 
his son imbibe and act upon this 

When Adele and Miss Inglis enter- 
ed the garden, the gentlemen were 
engaged in training some espaliers on 
a stone wall. They soon finished 
their work, and would have left it 
when the ladies entered, but Miss 
Inglis insisted on their not doing so, 
as she wanted some lessons in the 
art of training trees. " Our gardener 
is rather a dull fellow," she remark- 
ed, " and I have often to overlook his 
work. So you must show me how 
you manage these fruit-trees." 

What a contrast this quiet spot 

presented to the " island in the sky," 
as Adele persisted in calling the 
castle. No distant views here. The 
gray ivy -hung walls of the old church 
rose on one side of the little lawn, 
and both the church and the manse 
looked a thousand years old. The 
sun glinted into this nook, embower- 
ed in evergreens ; and back of the 
house rose a heather-crowned knoll ; 
this knoll was Paul's study, as Miss 
Inglis said ; here in his boyhood he 
had been accustomed, cushioned on 
the soft heather, to prepare his les- 
sons. The ladies were invited into 
the house, and the dear old smiling 
face of Jeannette soon appeared, 
bringing in a tray containing lunch. 

There was such a sweet, quiet air 
of repose upon every thing here, that 
Adele felt as if she could stay for- 
ever ; but it was near Lady Inglis's 
dinner hour, and Miss Inglis had 
been instructed to bring back her 
uncle and cousin with her. 

"Adele and I will look at the 
churc*h while you are dressing," said 
she ; and her uncle gave Andrew the 
key to accompany them. 

"Yes, Miss Nellie, ye may weel 
show the yovmg leddy the kirk, for 
there is na ither sich in all Scotland. 
The Culdees used for to preach here 
lang before the Gospel was heard on 
in England." 

"0 Andrew!" taid Miss Inglis, 
laughing, " I am afraid your Culdees 
were a kind of Scottish' fairies, like 
the brownies!" 

Andrew held up his hands in holy 
horror. " Now God forgive ye. 
Miss Nellie, for Ukenen his servants 
to sich wicked things as brownies." 
For the old man had a lingering be- 
lief in the existence of brownies, not- 
withstanding his piety. 

" Who were the Culdees, cousin 
Ellen?" asked Adele; "I have never 
heard of them before." 

" The word comes from Cultore 
Dei, and they were a holy set of 
Presbyterian QnonTcs who preached in 

" Presbyterian monks ! how oddly 
that sounds. Were they really 


Adele St. Maur. 


" So it is said. I am not very well 
acquainted with the early ecclesias- 
tical history of Scotland, but I be- 
lieve that all parties agree about the 
holiness of life and great learning of 
the Culdees. It is said they some- 
times spent eighteen years in study 
before receiving orders. Whether 
they took vows of celibacy I do not 
know; it seems certain that they 
lived in societies, but it is supposed 
by some that this was merely for the 
pm-pose of study and united action 
in charitable works, and that, when 
they married they left the society. 
My uncle can tell you every thing 
that is known at present about them." 

" Cultore Dei^'' said Adele, " what 
a holy name, and how appropriate it 
seems ! But what does Andrew mean 
about their preaching before Christ- 
ianity was known in England?": 

Miss Inglis smiled as she looked 
at Andrew's rugged Scotch face. 
" Oh ! Andrew would say that the 
' land o' the Scots' was created be- 
fore any other part of the world, I 
suppose. Still, my impression is, that 
he is right about the Christianity of 
Scotland preceding that of England. 
If my memory is not at fault, Ninian 
was the means of converting the 
Picts in the year 412, while Augustine 
did not reach England until the year 
597, nearly two centuries later. St. 
Columba, however, the founder of 
the Culdees, did not precede Augus- 
tine more than thirty or forty years. 
The ruins of his old churches and 
monasteries are still to be seen on 
the island of lona ; and mamma and 
I have been promising ourselves a 
visit there this summer, and your 
being here will make it so much 

"Oh! I shall be delighted," said 
Adele, ." and in the mean time I will 
learn all about the Culdees from Dr. 
Inglis — I am so much interested in 

"Ay, my leddy," said Andrew, 
" yc may wcel spur after them ; there 
war no sic men syne that day." 

The ponderous key now grated in 
the old church door, and the party 
entered. Very old and damp and 

ugly, was Adele's first impression, 
but the next was that of sweet, quaint, 
holy quietness, and they seated them- 
selves in one of the old oaken pews, 
while Andrew stood in the aisle in 
perfect stillness. At last the old 
man's voice broke the silence. " Mony 
souls habin born to God i' this place, 
and mony now before the throne may 
look back to where they first saw 
spiritual light." 

" Yes, Andrew," said Miss Inglis 
in a subdued tone, "you and I will 
also look back to this spot, when we 
reach heaven, as our former home on 

"Ay, indeed. Miss Nellie, it is 
my home — my happiest hours are 
spent here. And there outen that 
window I look at the graves of my 
dear mistress and her bairns, and I 
expect before many years to be laid 
beside them." 

After examining every part of the 
church, they went out into the grave- 

" This is the grave of Paul's mo- 
ther," said Miss Inglis, almost in a 
whisper, " and these are his little 
brothers and sisters." Beautifully 
kept was the grass, the shrubbery, 
the trees — every leaf and tiny spear 
looked as if watched and cared for. 
A seat and rustic table were near, 
of which Andrew said : ' ' This is 
where master often wn'ites his ser- 

They were now joined by the gen- 
tlemen, and took the path to the castle. 

Late that afternoon, when the set- 
ting sun, away below the island in 
the sky, was casting his last beams 
over the misty landscape, the party 
were seated in groups upon the lawn. 

Sir Alfred preferred an easy-chair 
upon a balcony overlooking the lawn. 
Adele stood at a little distance from 
him, looking dreamily over the dis- 
tant country. Her eyes were not so 
bright as usual — in fact, there was a 
dimness about them which almost 
suggested tears. Her grandfather 
raised his gold-headed cane, and 
touching her gently on the shoulder, 
said playfully, " What is thy pe- 
tition, Queen Esther? And what is 


Adele St. Mattr, 


thy request? and it shall be grant- 
ed thee, even to the half of my for- 
tune !" 

Adele smiled, but the dew did con- 
dense into two bright drops, which 
trembled on her eye-lashes. 

" O grandpapa ! it makes me so 
unhappy to think of the Benjamins 
— I love them so much — and they 
will be lost !" The tears were followed 
by a deep sob. " Grandpapa, money 
would employ a missionary, would it 
not ? could you not employ a mis- 
sionary for the special purpose of 
converting the Benjamins ?" 

Sir Alfred could scarcely repress a 
smile, but although amused, he did 
not the less earnestly receive the 
proposition. He thought a moment, 
and then said, "Yes, darling, I will 
make every endeavor to do so. I will 
talk to Dr. Inglis about it this even- 

"0 grandpapa! how good — how 
kind you are. I am sure there never 
was such another grandpapa," and 
she threw her arms around his neck 
and covered his face and gray hair 
with kisses. " May I go and tell 
Dr. Inglis you wish to talk to him ? 
He is walking with Mrs. Cecil near 
the cliff." 

" It would scarcely be polite to in- 

terrupt his conversation with a lady ; 
but I see Mrs. Cecil has joined Miss 
Inglis and her mother, so you may 

Adele bounded off like a gazelle, 
and Dr. Inglis seemed to catch the 
infection of her bright eye, for he 
came up smiling, which was a rare 
thing with him. Adele then joined 
the ladies, but she often looked to- 
ward the balcony where the two ven- 
erable men held earnest converse. 
Long they talked of the condition of 
the Jews, a subject of deep interest 
to Dr. Inglis, and had been for many 
years. Paul was soon to be ordain- 
ed, and his own enthusiastic temper- 
ament had already almost determin- 
ed him to take the missionary field. 
A mission to the Jews would require 
a particular course of study, how- 
ever, such as had been indicated by 
McCheyne, and Sir Alfred was anx- 
ious to secure an agent immediately. 
" However, your son can carry on 
his studies at the same time that he 
engages in active duties — at least 
endeavor to convert this family, in 
whom my little girl is so much in- 
terested. He is already a splendid 
Hebrew linguist, and I would be 
glad for him to embark as soon as he 
is ordained." 


lona ! sacred isle, with its low, 
bleak shore and naked hills and 
ruined churches — the church of Ro- 
nad, the church of St. Oran— the dis- 
mantled walls of the monasteries or 
colleges. Our party had landed with 
a crowd of tourists and sight-seers, 
and their unseemly mirth jarred 
upon Adele's feelings, and she had 
wandered off with her sketch-book 
among the tombs of ancient mon- 
archs and churchmen. Andrew, 
whose love of his native country 
made him far more intelligent than 
most men of his class, had told her 
that she would find in this holy spot 
the tombs of forty ancient kings of 
Scotland, four kings of Ireland, and 
eight kings of Norway. Adele could 

not find as many as Andrew promised, 
but the carving on some of the tombs 
was very fine. Beside the kings, 
there were many of the ancient dig- 
nitaries of Scotland, the McLeans, 
the McAlisters, and the McDonalds, 
whose remains had been brought here 
by their relatives, in the hope that 
the sins of their lives might be more 
easily forgiven if their bodies rested 
within these sacred precincts. 

Paul Inglis stood in the church of 
St. Oran, the carved pavement of 
which still remained, and with his 
serene yet deeply earnest expression, 
he looked at the striking scene 
around. He stood perfectly still, 
with a strangely preoccupied look 
in his large and dark hazel eyes. 


Adele St. Ifaur, 


"See," said Mrs. Cecil, "he is just 
my idcca of St. Columba ! My dear 
Miss Inglis, I never had a firmer con- 
viction than that your cousin Paul is 
destined for the accompUshment of 
some great and noble work. Just 
imagine that paletot he wears changed 
into an antique robe, and St. Colum- 
ba would be before you !" 

"Oh!" said Miss Inglis, "I have 
never imagined St. Columba to have 
been young and beautiful, like Paul. 
You know the artists of the middle 
ao-es have not endowed the saints 
with many personal attractions. I 
have never seen a representation of 
St. Columba, but many others are 
any tiling but beautiful. I suppose 
I am uttering a great heresy when I 
say that I believe that the arts of 
painting and sculpture have degraded 
instead of elevated the taste of the 

"A very grave mistake I think 
you have fallen into, then," said Mrs. 
Cecil. "Now, suppose Mr. Inglis 
were placed upon canvas just as he 
is, would not the very sight of his 
pure, thinking face and his fine atti- 
tude have an ennobling eifect ?" 

Miss Inglis shook her head with a 
little smile. " I am inclined to be- 
lieve, with old Andrew, that it is a 
sin to make the likeness of any thing 
upon the earth, or in the heavens 
above the earth, or in the waters un- 
der the earth." 

Mrs. Cecil looked annoyed, and 
had she uttered her thoughts aloud, 
they would have been rather un- 

"You surely would not be with- 
out the likenesses of your friends ?" 

An expression of deep pain flitted 
across the face of Miss Inghs. "The 
likeness I have of my father is so 
unsatisftictory to me that I never 
look at it. I cherish a portrait of 
him in my heart, which is so much 
truer, that the painted image on the 
wall almost haunts me — it is like, 
yet oh ! so cruelly unlike. And I 
know it is the same case with mam- 
ma, for although she loved him so 
devotedly, she studiously avoids 
looking at it. Yet it is a very hand- 

some picture, and his friends think a 
perfect likeness. No artist can make 
a picture like that enshrined in the 
heart of a wife or daughter. The 
very attempt seems to me sacrilege." 

"What 'a poetical fanatic!" 
thought Mrs. Cecil, as Miss Inglis 
continued : 

" It seems to me, Mrs. Cecil, that 
few persons realize the sacredness of 
the ' human form divine.' Its being 
created in the image of God — its be- 
ing the temple of the Holy Spirit — " 
Here her voice sank low. 

"Yet surely," said Mrs. Cecil, 
" you would not blot out from ex- 
istence all the beautiful creations of 
painters and sculptors ?" 

" I would like to annihilate all the 
vgly creations of painters and sculp- 
tors which I think have demoralized 
the world for so long. I know," said 
she, smiling at the expression of Mrs. 
Cecil's face, "that you think me a 
northern barbarian, or a fanatical 
Purita,n, but this is really my feeling 
and belief I do not know certainly 
that I am right, however." 

"And I feel quite certain that you 
are not right, begging your pardon. 
Miss Inglis. What idea would we 
have of the polished Greeks, if we had 
none of their exquisite works of art ?" 

"The Greeks," replied Miss Inglis, 
" were a noble and cultivated people, 
and had they been debarred by any 
means from expressing their thoughts 
in marble, they would have found an 
expression in some other form. Do 
not understand me as condemning 
art in building, or any kind of orna- 
mentation. But I think the human 
race would have been better and 
purer if no delineation of the human 
form, in marble, metal, or on canvas, 
had ever been made. Had Greece 
had no artists, she would proba- 
bly have had more poets. Had she 
had no statues, she might have had 
more temples and more beautiful 
buildings of every description. In 
this day, when moral and social ques- 
tions are so much discussed, it might 
be worth while to consider what ef- 
fect persuading men of their own di- 
vine origin, and keeping this idea con- 


Adele St. Maur. 


stantly impressed upon their minds, 
would have in elevating and ennobl- 
ing them. 'Ye are gods,' said the 
psalmist, and Adam is declared to 
have been the son of God. Then let 
this God-like temple, built for tlie 
soul's occupancy, be considered too 
sacred to be imitated by the hand of 

" What a singular mode of think- 
ing!" said Mrs. Cecil. "Did you 
ever meet with an educated person 
who agreed with you in these 
opinions ?" 

"No," said Miss Inglis, "I do not 
know that I ever expressed them 

"And then your practice contra- 
dicts your theory. Your collection 
of miniatures, which your mother told 
me you had made with such infinite 
pains, is the rarest and most exqui- 
site I have ever seen. And the fine 
collection of paintings at the castle, 
gathered from many lands by your 
ancestors, might have taught you to 
appreciate art." 

"I made the collection of minia- 
tures many years ago, when my fa- 
ther and I lived upon the continent. 
My present opinions have been form- 
ed so gradually that I can scarcely 
say when they commenced. Proba- 
bly some doubts have existed in the 
mind ever since I read an account 
of the fierce contest raised in the 
Church by the Iconoclasts, in the 
eighth century ; and gradually the 
conviction, faint at first, but grow- 
ing stronger as each year's experi- 
ence and reading is added to the pre- 
ceding, that we are to obey God's 
written commands to the letter, and 
wherever any doubt exists as to their 
meaning, to endeavor always to l>e on 
the safe side. It may not be a sin to 
paint portraits — it is certainly not 
a sin to refrain from it. St. Paul 
said: "If any man doubt, he is 
damned if he eat, for whatsoever is 
not of faith is sin.' " 

" But I think it is much better not 
to doubt," said Mrs. Cecil. "You 
know, with regard to eating forbidden 
food, it was only the weak Christians 
who doubted — the strong did not." 

"Yes," said Miss Inglis, slowly and 
hesitatingly ; " but latterly the world 
seems so bewildered between right 
and wrong, and opposite parties main- 
tain with so much fierceness that 
their own views are right, that I see 
no way of coming to a certain know- 
ledge of the truth, except by a close 
clinging to the revealed word of God. 
And had the Church from the earliest 
ages maintained the principle that 
she had no right, as a church, to 
move hand or foot without an express 
'Thus saith the Lord,' there would 
never have been any schism, and that 
unity for which our Saviour prayed 
would have been preserved." 

Miss Inglis saw Dr. Inglis ap- 
proaching, and saw from the smile 
with which Mrs. Cecil looked toward 
him that she was going to appeal to 
him, and she said hurriedly, "Pray 
do not speak to my uncle on this 
subject — it does not become me to 
advance new opinions, and it is not 
my duty to teach; the apostle de- 
clares that a woman ought not to be 
suffered to teach, and I would always 
rather my uncle would regard me as 
a disciple than a setter-forth of 
strange doctrines." 

Dr. Inglis now came up, and said : 

" You ladies seem to be engaged in 
earnest disputation. Ellen blushes 
as though she had been defeated in 
the argument." 

"I do not know," said Mrs. Cecil, 
"I am afraid I was defeated; but 
here comes my darling Adele, with 
her sketches. Well, my little lady, 
have you found the tombs of all the 
Scotch, Irish, and Norwegian kings ?" 

" Oh ! no, dear Mrs. Cecil. I can 
not find all, and Paul is so predccu- 
pied that he will not help me. But 
my sketches are beautiful ; I mean, 
I had beautiful carvings of foliage 
and flowers to sketch upon the old 
tombs. And this is St. Martin's 
cross," showing a drawing, "and 
these are pillars of the cathedral, with 
such grotesque capitals." 

"Why, yes, my love, you have 
really added treasures to your port- 
folio ; you have executed them admi- 
rably too," and glancing from the 


Agricultural Science. 


drawings to the lovely face before 
her, she patted the soft round cheek, 
and stooped to kiss the fair young 

" Is my cousin Adcle complaining 
of me?" said Paul, now joining the 
party. " I must really ask pardon ; 
my thoughts have all flown after the 
olden inhabitants of this weird isle ; 
but I will now make amends. I have 
found a rare old tomb, amid the rank 

grass and wild flowers, which will be 
a fine subject to copy. Come, my 
dear little cousin, I am entirely at 
your service ;" and the knightly bow 
with which the young man greeted 
the fair girl and then moved off at 
her side, formed so pretty a picture, 
that Mrs. Cecil smiled with pleasure 
as she and Miss Inglis exchanged 

{To 1)6 continued.) 


In the first number of this Maga- 
zine attention was drawn to the im- 
portance of agricultural science, and 
some general suggestions offered as 
to how the present deplorable neg- 
lect at the South might to some 
extent be remedied. We propose to 
follow up the discussion with a con- 
cise view of some of the more im- 
portant practical results already at- 
tained in this department of scien- 
tific research. The points of special 
interest to the practical farmer may 
be summed up in these three : first, 
his soil, i's character and 'composi- 
tion ; second, his crops, their nature 
and cultivation ; third, his manures, 
their qualities and manufacture. 
Upon each of these points science, 
aided by experience, has made many 
valuable suggestions and established 
many useful facts. We can only al- 
lude to a few of them. 

The soil, we know, results from the 
decomposition of rocks, and partakes 
of the general character of the min- 
erals which have been disintegrated 
to form it. If it has been derived 
from a granitic rock, its composition 
will be identical with the kind of 
granite which has furnished the ma- 
terials ; if, for instance, the granite 
has its usual composition of feldspar, 
(|uartz, and mica, in due proportions, 
the soil will contain by the decompo- 
sition of these the necessary quanti- 
ties of silica, alumina, potash, and 
iron, but no lime ; and in proportion 
as the feldspar predominates, the soil 
will be a cold stiff clay, or as silica 

abounds, an open porous sand. If, 
on the other hand, hornblende takes 
the place of mica, forming a syenitic 
granite, Ave will have both lime and 
magnesia, but less potash or soda. 
In like manner each of the rocks 
gives, by disintegration, its own pe- 
culiar soil — basalt and greenstone, 
a good soil, rich in lime, with due 
proportions of clay and the alkalies i 
serpentine, a poor soil, deficient in 
lime, and abounding to a defect in 
magnesia ; or if the mineral called 
hypersthene forms the principal part 
of the rocks, as is sometimes the 
case, the soil may prove hopelesslj' 
barren, containing much magnesia 
and iron, with only traces of lime 
and clay. 

But few rocks, however, can fur- 
nish all the inorganic elements neces- 
sary for every variety of plants, and 
hence their separate disintegration 
must have formed, in most cases, 
only a barren result, if God had not, 
in his infinite wisdom, by what man 
would have regarded as a dire calam- 
ity, brought a blessing upon us. 
The earthquakes and convvdsions of 
former eras were God's angels of 
mercy, sent not only to redeem our 
earth from this sterility, but to bless 
us with all the rich beauties of the 
varied landscape. If these convul- 
sions, upheaving the underlying stra- 
ta, and exposing rocks of different 
ages and character to disintegration, 
had not occui'red, the whole of our 
soil must have been formed from a 
single kind of rock, and have re- 


Agricultural Science. 


mained comparatively barren for 
many sorts of produce, while the 
surface of the earth presented to the 
weary eye an unvarying and tiresome 
monotony. As it is, however, rocks 
of every age, consisting of minerals 
of every character, have been up- 
heaved and exposed on the surface 
to the corroding tooth of time, and 
these, by commingling their rich and 
vai'ied treasures of mineral manures, 
each supplying the defects of the 
other, have diffused a general fertili- 
ty, and produced, by the aid of or- 
ganic matter, the exhaustless alluvial 
deposits of our bottom lands and 
prairies. It is thus that the different 
qualities of our soils are easily ex- 

The character of the rocks that 
M'ere originally disintegrated to form 
the soil in any locality, must deter- 
mine the character of that soil. 

How much, then, might a thorough 
knowledge of the composition of 
rocks often aid us in deciding upon 
the fertility of a soil which has been 
formed by their decomposition, and 
the character of the manures neces- 
sary for its improvement, even in ad- 
vance of actual experiment! The 
soil, it is true, is not always derived 
from the rock on which it lies, for 
the alluvial banks of overflowing 
streams and rivers are formed from 
all the rocks along their course, and 
other localities, especially in high lat- 
itudes, are covered with a soil that 
has drifted from remote regions. But 
still it is generally true that the un- 
derlying and neighboring rocks give 
character to our surface soils, and 
even in cases where this general rule 
does not apply, a competent know- 
ledge of mineralogy would often be 
of incalcu.lable value to the practical 
farmer. In more than one instance 
we have known of farmers travelling 
hundreds of miles to enjoy the ad- 
vantages of a new country, and after 
all their toil and sacrifices have set- 
tled dovv^n upon sterile granite land 
every way inferior to that they had 
left behind, when a simple inspection 
of the surface of the country with 
the requisite mineralogical informa- 

VOL. I. — NO. II. 

tion would at least have warned them 
of the danger. 

Every farmer, by his own observa- 
tion, is familiar with the fact that the 
character of the forest-trees growing 
upon any locality is a tolerable index 
to the quality of the soil that pro- 
duces them. This is so, because the 
prevalence of any peculiar species of 
forest-tree in a given locality is de- 
pendent, not on any accident that 
scattered its seeds in that particular 
place rather than any othei", nor on 
any miraculous power that originated 
them in that soil at its creation or 
afterward, but only on the fact that 
the seeds, which are scattered every- 
where, have here alone found the 
requisite conditions for a healthful 
development. Their spontaneous 
growth implies the presence in the 
soil of the elements necessary to 
produce them, and those therefore 
which require the same conditions as 
field crops, must indicate good farm- 
ing lands. If our farmers were as 
familiar Avith the nature of the rocks 
that form our various soils as they 
are with the kind fof trees that fill 
our forests, they would not altogether 
neglect this sort of testimony in tak- 
ing evidence to establish the general 
qualities of lands. If we would, 
however, know definitely and certain- 
ly the exact composition of the land 
we cultivate, in order to devote it to 
the most suitable crops, or improve 
its qualities in the most economical 
and successful manner, no source of 
information can be substituted for the 
chemist's analysis. 

By this means, and this alone, can 
we learn fully and accurately what 
our soils are, and what special ma- 
nures will remedy their defects. 
Without it, much labor and much 
money may be spent in vain, to fur- 
nish elements already present in suf- 
ficient abundance, and possibly even 
in injurious excess. 

In the second place, the farmer's 
crops require some special considera- 
tion as to their nature and cultivation. 

The plant always has a definite re- 
lation to the soil in which it grows ; 
the composition of the one must cor- 


Agricultural Science. 


respond to the requirements of the 
other. Wheat, for instance, which 
requires, among other things, much 
phosphoric acid to perfect its seeds, 
and soluble silica to stiffen its straw, 
could not be cultivated successfully 
upon a soil containing neither of these 
essential elements ; if the first is ab- 
sent or deficient, the seeds must fail, 
or be proportionally defective ; if the 
second is wanting, the straw will not 
be able to support the head; the plant 
can not manufacture either for itself, 
and hence the farmer would spend 
his strength in vain and his labor for 
naught if he should attempt to grow 
his wheat upon such a soil, while, if 
rich in all the other elements of fer- 
tility, the same soil might yield an 
abundant harvest of turnips, or other 
plants which require but little of these 

In some parts of -Brazil where the 
soil is peculiarly rich in organic mat- 
ter, and we would naturally suppose 
that the richest harvests not only of 
grain, but of any other crop might be 
produced, the actual experiment has 
shown that wheat can not be success- 
fully cultivated at all. And in our 
own country, where rich alluvial bot- 
toms are found, it is within the know- 
ledge of every one that in some in- 
stances crops of small grain will not 
grow, while in other cases the growth 
is so rank and luxuriant that the 
stems can not support the weight, 
and the whole falls to the ground. 
Now, in the first case, the scientific 
farmer would not fail to recognize the 
true cause of his failure in the entire 
absence of some element from the soil 
which is an essential ingredient of his 
crop ; and in the second case, in the 
deficiency of silica, notwithstanding 
the abundance of all the other condi- 
tions-essential to success. This silica 
being the strengthening clement in 
the straw of all our grains and grasses, 
if the natural i-ichness of the soil in- 
duces such a rapid growth that tlie 
plant can not take it up as fast as it is 
required, the straw must necessarily 
lack stiffness, and like unstarched 
linen, become too soft and limber. 
Thus it is apparent that the successful 

farmer must either know the resources 
of his soil, and the requirements of 
his crops, and suit the one to the 
other; or he must understand how 
to remedy the defects of his soil so as 
to adapt it to the necessities of his 
plants. He must in the case suppos- 
ed, either abandon the cultivation of 
wheat for some other crop to which 
his land is suited, or he must add 
silica to his soil ; or if that be already 
present, the strong alkalies, jn suffi- 
cient quantities to render that silica 
soluble for the use of his wheat. It 
is upon this principle in part, namely, 
that different kinds of plants require 
different kinds of food, that the great 
importance of a systematic rotation 
of our cultivated field crops is mainly 

If the same plants be grown an- 
nually upon the same soil, they will 
of course draw continually the same 
elements from the earth, and unless 
the miracle of the widow's cruse be 
repeated, that vessel be ultimately ex- 
hausted from which we are continu- 
ally taking, and to which nothing is 
added. This exhaustion will follow 
the sooner, if we select those plants 
which draw largely upon some ingre- 
dient of the soil which is present in 
it only in a limited degree. That 
special ingredient being thus removed, 
the soil becomes barren for those 
plants which require it, while other 
jjlants may even grow luxuriantly 
upon it. 

What, then, is the remedy ? Either 
the exhausted element must be re- 
turned in the form of manure, or the 
kindly aid of nature must be invoked, 
and the soil be allowed to rest from 
that particular crop, till the same dis- 
integrating agents which originally 
formed it may have time by further 
action to replace the substances re- 
moved by cultivation. To anticipate 
this demand and prevent this exhaus- 
tion, at the same time that we secure 
an uninterrupted succession of crops, 
is the object of rotation in cultivation. 

Meanwhile another principle bear- 
ing in an exactly opposite direction 
leads to the same result, namely, that 
all plants, like animals, not only take 


Agricultural Science. 


up and assimilate by their appropri- 
ate organs whatever is necessary for 
their growth, but they also reject 
from their system whatever they have 
taken in through their roots that is 
unsuited to their nature. This must 
be so, as all plants take up indiscrim- 
inately in their sap whatever substan- 
ces are soluble in the soil around 
them, and yet chemical analysis 
shows that different species growing 
side by side in the same soil have 
very dissimilar compositions, simply 
because one has retained what the 
other rejected. 

This habit of the plant of excreting 
by its roots the substances which are 
unnecessary or injurious to its devel- 
opment, serves to illustrate still fur- 
ther why a soil that has become un- 
fit for the growth of one crop may be 
exactly suited for another, just as a 
hog may fatten upon the excrement 
of other animals. 

Thus we have the two principles 
upon which the proper rotation is to 
be established. First, those plants 
must succeed each other which do 
not require in large quantities the 
same elements for their support, and 
especially if the required substance 
is one that is usually deficient in 
soils. Secondly, those crops should 
have the preference in the rotation 
which can assimilate and thrive upon 
the excrementitious matters rejected 
by the roots of their immediate pre- 
decessor. While these two princi- 
ples should establish the order of 
succession, it is evident that the ne- 
cessities of a country must greatly 
modify the question as to icJiat crofs 
should enter into the rotation adopt- 
ed by them. The English rotation 
is, first, wheat ; second, rutabaga tur- 
nips ; third, barley ; fourth, clover 
or grass of some kind ; the wheat to 
furnish bread, turnips for their sheep 
and cattle, the barley to be brewed 
into beer and ale, the clover and 
grasses for pasturage. 

In this country, of course, Indian 
corn must form a part of any rota- 
tion that could be adopted ; while 
in the Gulf States, " Cotton is" still 

"With us, too, th-e common cow- 
pea, which has been aptly called the 
" clover of the South," should not 
be omitted in any system of rotation 
which looks either to the improve- 
ment of the soil or the value of the 
produce. As a manural crop for the 
benefit of the soil, its long tap- 
roots descend far into the earth, and 
draw up from depths beyond the 
reach of ordinary field plants the 
fertilizing salts which it deposits 
upon the surface for future use ; 
v/hile the roots themselves penetrat- 
ing the subsoil tend to pulverize it, 
and at the same time their decom- 
position furnishes it with vegetable 
matters. Indeed, this Southern 
clover by its many valuable qualities 
deserves to be such a favorite with 
our people, that if it is excluded from 
a formal place in our general system 
of rotation, it should only be in 
order to establish it as a more 
universal crop, to be used whenever 
and wherever space can be found for 
it. Especially should it be planted 
in every corn-field at its final work- 
ing ; when thus used the advantages 
will be several fold. In the first 
place, while the pea will come too 
late to injure the development of the 
corn, its young leaves will render a 
substantial service by protecting the 
soil and the roots of the growing 
crop from the parching effects of a 
midsummer's sun. In the second 
place, it will render a future service 
by contributing to prevent the wash- 
ing of the soil. In the third place, 
after the corn crop has been gathered 
it furnishes an excellent pasture; 
and in the fourth place, the vegetable 
matter from its leaves, and vines, and 
roots, when plowed into the soil, 
serves as a valuable manure. As a 
crop to be harvested for food, its hay 
is richer in flesh-forming matter than 
either the common meadow-grass or 
clover-hay, while the pea itself is 
said to contain considerably more of 
these nitrogenous substances than 
even Indian corn or wheat. 

This estimate of the value of the 
cow-pea, though strictly according to 
the record, is certainly beyond that 


Agricultiiral Science. 


generally placed upon it by practical 
farmers ; and whether the one or 
the other be correct, it illustrates the 
mutual dependence of the science 
and art of agriculture to guide and 
support each other. If the first be 
correct, of how little value are the 
immemorial opinions, or, we might 
say, prejudices of the "practical" 
man, without the aid of the princi- 
ples involved in his profession ; and 
if the second be true, how unsafe are 
the suggestions of theoretical science 
till they have been submitted to the 
ordeal of a practical test ! 

With such an exhibit, however, of 
the apparent real merit of the too 
much neglected cow-pea, may we 
not hope that a thorough trial, not 
less practical than scientific, may 
soon vindicate its right to a high 
position among the products of the 
Southern farm ? 

Thus far we have considered the 
crop in its relation to the composi- 
tion of the soil ; but it is evident 
that the nature of the plant should 
not be more strictly conformed to 
the qualities of the soil, than the 
cultivation of the crop to the peculi- 
arities of both. The object in culti- 
vation is several fold. 

The soil is stirred by the farmer's 
hoe, rake, and plough for the same 
reason, in part, that the chemist pul- 
verizes the mineral he wishes to 
analyze, namely, that it may the 
more readily be acted on by his solv- 
ents and reagents. "We have seen 
that the entire surface soil has been 
formed by the crumbling down of 
ancient rocks, under the influence of 
heat, cold, and moisture. 

This soil still contains much ferti- 
lizing matter locked up in the little 
grains and particles which compose 
it, and which await further decom- 
position before their nutritious ele- 
ments can be dissolved in the earth, 
and thus made available to be taken 
up by the roots, to be circulated in 
the sap (Tf the plant. This further 
decomposition of these particles, 
the unlocking of these little store- 
houses of mineral wealth, can only 
be accomplished as the original dis- 

integration was efi'ected — by the con- 
tinued action of atmospheric agents ; 
and these can only have free access 
to perform their work when the soil 
is loose and pulverulent. 

A second and much more import- 
ant object of cultivation, is the im- 
provement of the mechanical condi- 
tion of the soil. Under this head 
may be reckoned a variety of efiects 
which follow the plow and hoe, as 
they convert the hard and compact 
earth into a soft and mellow soil. 
By it the tender roots are permitted 
to permeate the earth far beyond 
their usual limits in search of food 
for the young plants ; by it watery 
vapor is absorbed into the soil, as by 
a porous sponge, where it dissolves 
the mineral manures and conveys 
them to the roots, and circulates with 
them through all the pores and fibres 
of the plant, giving freshness and 
pliancy to every part ; by it the at- 
mospheric gases, including the valu- 
able manures ammonia and carbonic 
acid, are absorbed, when they not 
only work important changes in the 
soil, but are carried by the circulating 
sap to every portion of the leaf and 
stem, to assist in building up its solid 

These general statements of the 
beneficial effects of keeping the soil 
well pulverized, leave scarcely any 
need for a special plea in behalf of 
deep culture and sub-soil plowing. 
It is sufficiently evident to all, that if 
pvilverizing the surface gives such 
advantages, the deeper the process 
goes, the better the effect ; the further 
will the roots extend in search of 
food ; the more vapor will be absorbed 
to counteract the effects of drought ; 
the moi'c gaseous manures will be 
obtained from the atmosphere, and 
the more extended, also, will be the 
chemical improvement of the soil. 
In addition to this, deep tillage will 
bring back to the surface valuable 
mineral constituents which have been 
dissolved by rains and carried down 
into the sub-soil ; it will also equal- 
ize the moisture of the earth, per- 
mitting it, when in excess, to descend, 
and by the aid of capillary action 


Agricultural Science. 


bringing it back again to the surface 
when it becomes parched; by the 
admission of warm summer air, and 
the condensation of its moisture, as 
well as by the chemical activity pro- 
duced, it will likewise diffuse into the 
cold sub-soil a genial and stimulating 
heat, so necessary to all the functions 
of both soil and plant. 

We would not, of course, counsel 
the sudden upturning of every farm 
to the depth of ten or twelve inches, 
which had before only been cultivated 
to the depth of five or six. This, in 
many cases, would bury the shallow 
surface soil entirely beneath a stiff 
and barren clay, which would be a 
serious detriment. But he who would 
enjoy the best results from his farm- 
ing operations, as well as secure the 
pleasure of contemplating his pro- 
gressive success, should deepen his 
culture inch by inch, each year in- 
creasing a little, till his whole sub- 
soil becomes penetrable by the roots 
of his growing crops. The farmer 
who has purchased a farm has se- 
cured the ownership of his soil to an 
indefinite depth. Why should he 
not enter upon the possession? The 
city merchant, when about to build, 
only buys a few feet fronting on 
Main street, and then he piles story 
upon story, to the fifth or sixth, till 
all the demands of his increasing 
business are met. 

So let our country farmers build 
doionioarcl^ multiplying farm under 
farm, each as rich and valuable as 
the one on the surface, till all his 
wants are supplied. This would sure- 
ly be better than to purchase more 
soil from some other man, while his 
own lies uncultivated and neglected 
at home. 

The depth to which our common 
field crops would send their roots in 
search of nourishment and moisture, 
if the soil were suflQciently pulver- 
ized to admit it, is scarcely credible 
to those who have not examined the 
facts. The frail aiid tender roots of 
growing corn, if permitted by culti- 
vation, would occupy the earth to the 
depth of more than thirty inches. 
There are, indeed, few cultivated 

plants whose roots would not travel 
downward from two to three feet, if 
permitted to do so. Then, is it not 
evident that a plant thus deriving 
nourishment from every inch of the 
soil for several feet in every direction, 
would become more vigorous than 
one imprisoned within a few inches 
of the surface ? Would an animal, 
tethered to a fixed point, thrive and 
fatten as one left free to roam over 
the wide pastures, and feed at pleas- 
ure upon its rich herbage ? The 
question answers itself. Then the 
deeper our soils are pulverized, and 
made penetrable by the roots of the 
plants, the better the crop. 

Thus much for the general princi- 
ples of culture. Now what are the 
limitations to the application ? Shall 
the farmer at all times plow as 
deep as possible ? This must depend 
upon the nature of his soil, and the 
character of his crop ; in this, as in 
many other points, his practical wis- 
dom must be taxed, to determine 
discreetly the path of duty where 
general principles and special ends 
have to be compared and balanced. 

It is, evidently, quite as important 
that the growing plant shall have 
roots to penetrate the soil, and ab- 
stract its nutritive matter, as it is 
that the soil should be penetrable ; 
and if the crop is of such a character, 
and at such a stage of development, 
that the deep plowing would injure 
it more by destroying its tender 
roots than the additional pulveriza- 
tion could atone for, it is clear it 
would be bad economy, to open up 
the new treasures of nutriment in 
the subsoil, by a process that would 
close the mouths of the plants, and 
render them incapable of enjoying it. 
Plants differ much in their character 
for endurance, some will bear almost 
any extent of interference, and by 
promptly throwing out fresh roots, 
will soon recover all they have lost, 
if they have thereby secured a 
wider range in a loose and mellow 
soil ; while others can not be dis- 
turbed without serious injury. Wit- 
ness the facility with which our gar- 
den beets and cabbage may be trans- 


Agricultural Science. 


planted, and the care requisite for 
the same operation with the cucum- 
ber and squash. 

As the best general rule that can 
be devised, let the land be as. 
thoroughly pulverized as possible 
before the seeds are committed to 
the soil, that the after cultivation 
necessary to keep it loose and pene- 
trable may be as light and superficial 
as circumstances will allow ; thus 
avoiding as far as may be all un- 
necessary injmy to the spreading 

If the soil, however, from its com- 
pact nature requires to be deeply 
pulverized during the growth of the 
plant, let it be done as early as pos- 
sible before the young roots have 
spread much into the adjacent fur- 
rows. But the ultimate appeal in 
all cases, which, like this, depend 
not only upon the nature of the soil 
and crop, but also much upon the 
character of the weather, must be 
submitted to each man's personal 
judgment and experience. 

The third general head into which 
our subject naturally divides itself is 
the question of manures. On this 
interesting and important department 
we can give but a brief and imperfect 

Manuring, like the system of cul- 
tivation alreadj^ considered, must be 
regulated both by the wants of the 
soil and the necessities of the plant, 
improving the physical character and 
chemical composition of the one and 
meeting the organic and inorganic 
demands of the other. When a 
physician would treat with the best 
success a case of disease, he must 
have an accurate knowledge not 
only of the functions of the human 
system generally, but special infor- 
mation in regard to the constitu- 
tional peculiarities of the patient 
under treatment, as well as a de- 
tailed knowledge of the nature, ex- 
tent, and locality of the disease. 
These points being secured, he is 
prepared to compound his medicines 
according to their known qualities 
and apportion his prescriptions as 
the patient may require. That pa- 

tient is the famier^s soil and crop — 
the different plants he cultivates, his 
separate subjects of study — the di- 
gestive functions, the seat of the 
disease — the manure appropriate in 
the case, the remedy to be applied. 

Does the farmer then desire to pur- 
sue successfully his profession ? He 
must " doctor " his soik He must 
carefully consider its physical pecu- 
liarities and the extent and nature of 
its defects in reference to the crop he 
cultivates. If this be not done, he 
can not compost his manures with 
any certain expectation of remedy- 
ing its deficiencies. Every one must 
see that definite knowledge can alone 
suggest definite remedies and lead to 
definite results. 

The composts of the barn-yard may 
be considered the farmer's best gene- 
ral tonics. Those containing most of 
the salts originally extracted from 
the soil for the nourishment of the 
crops upon which his animals have 
been fed, must, of course, contain 
valuable nutriment for succeeding 
crops — valuable in proportion not 
only as the food upon which the dif- 
ferent animals have lived has been 
rich and nutritious, but especially in 
proportion as its volatile and soluble 
elements have been skillfully hus- 
banded by the combined care and 
science of the industrious farmer. 
To pursue this branch of the subject 
through all its practical details, or at 
all in proportion to its intrinsic im- 
portance, would far exceed the limits 
proposed to ourselves in this discus- 
sion. But fortunately, the admitted 
value of animal manures has already 
diffused a very general knowledge 
upon the subject of barn-yard com- 
posts, so that a repetition of the 
processes and the principles involved 
in them becomes less necessary in 
this place. 

The whole philosophy of the sub- 
jects is summed up in the proper use of 
such cliemical agents and absorbents, 
(sulphuric acid, gypsum, chloride of 
lime, charcoal, vegetable mould, etc.,) 
as will effectually prevent the escape 
of the gaseous manures on the one 
hand, and such shelter as will ward 


Agricultural Science. 


off the evaporating heat of the sun 
and the leaching eflFects of rain on 
the other. The last thing which the 
intelligent practical farmer would 
do is to expose his valuable stable 
manure . to drenching rains and 
scorching heat in the open barn-yard, 
without any provision being made to 
guard against the entire waste of its 
volatile gases and soluble salts. The 
richest animal manures thus left till 
fully decomposed would be but little 
better than so much decayed wood 
or leached ashes. If they must be 
exposed, let them be mixed and cov- 
ered with some of those substances 
suited to retain the ammonia, and let 
the drainings be secured for future 

But while it is admitted that stable 
composts and manures are generally, 
if not sufficiently appreciated, be- 
cause of their adaptation to almost 
every species of plant and every kind 
of soil, and their existence at little 
or no cost at the very door of every 
farmer, still the same admission 
would not be true, at least to the 
same extent, of other and more 
special manures, as lime, gypsum, 
guano, etc. These, as distinguished 
from stable manures, which are more 
general in their action, ma}'' be viewed 
more in the light of specifics — special 
medicines for special cases — and being 
therefore more professional, come less 
within the experience of the great 
mass of farmers. Their proper and 
economic use as a class, also, requires 
more definite knowledge, and hence, 
in the hands of the inexperienced, 
more often disappoint the hopes of 
those who have spent much labor 
and money too, it may be, to procure 
and use them. We may supply our 
land abundantly with lime, and per- 
ceive after all our trouble and ex- 
pense no beneficial result — because 
our soil may be already sufficiently 
supplied with that element, or the 
crop we cultivate may require but 
little or no lime ; or the lime itself 
may be positively injurious from the 
excess of magnesia which it contains. 
"We may purchase large quantities of 
guano and realize none of the pe- 

culiarly prompt and efficient action 
of that justly esteemed- commercial 
manure — because the article, though 
perhaps a genuine guano, may have 
had all the soluble ingredients which 
give to it its forcing power washed' 
out, and but little more left for the 
use of the plant than its insoluble 
earthy matters. 

Commercial manures should never 
be purchased without a previous 
satisfactory chemical examination. 
What then ? Shall the common 
farmer who is unable to make a 
chemical analysis either of his soil, 
his crops, or his manures, abandon 
these special, fertilizers altogether? 
By no means. 

He must avail himself of the skill 
and knowledge of other men in this 
as in all other cases of the division 
of labor. With a little attention he 
may make for himself a proximate 
determination of the value of his 
manures and soils, to serve as a 
general guide ; but an accurate an- 
alysis can only be made by the pro- 
fessional chemist; and we. hope the 
day is not far distant wdien the " con- 
sulting agriculturists," whose special 
profession it is to aid and counsel 
the practical farmer in all the scien- 
tific part of his labors, shall be es- 
tablished and patronized at the South 
as in other countries where agricul- 
tural science is advanced and appre- 

As an evidence of the results of 
strictly scientific farming based upon 
an accurate analysis of the soil, we 
submit the following illustration. 
" Prof Mapes once purchased some 
land which could not produce corn 
at all, and by applying only such 
manures as analysis indicated to be 
necessary, at a cost of less than $2 
per acre, he obtained the first year 
OYerJifti/ iusJiels of shelled corn 2^er 
acre. The land has continued to 
improve, and is as fertile as any in 
the State. It has produced in one 
season a sufficient crop of cabbages 
to pay the expenses of cultivation, 
and over $250 per acre besides, 
though it was apparently worthless 
when he purchased it." Such facts 


Agrieidtural Science. 


need no comment, they vindicate 
themselves. We have only space for 
a concise statement of the specific 
effects of some of our more valued 
mineral manures to indicate to the 
practical farmer their uses and value. 

Lime may be placed first in the 
category, both because of the ease 
with which it can be obtaineil, and 
the variety of modes in which it 
exerts its beneficial action in the 
soil. For the purpose of nutrition, 
the artificial application of lime would 
in most cases be of comparatively 
little value, since but little of it is 
really needed in the composition of 
many plants, and the small quantity 
required is generally present in the 
soil. But if your land be sour, the 
application of lime will, by neutraliz- 
ing the acid, correct the acidity ; if 
it be supplied with organic matter, 
the application of lime, by its. caustic 
action, will hasten decomposition, 
thus preparing nutriment for the 
plant, and a genial warmth to the 
soil; if it be stiff and clayey, the 
application of lime will assist in 
crumbUng and pulverizing it, by 
uniting with its silica and other ele- 
ments, thus improving at the same 
time its mechanical condition, and 
developing its chemical resources. 
If ammonia is being generated in it, 
lime will cause the oxidation of the 
ammonia into water and nitric acid, 
which, uniting with the lime, be- 
comes fixed as a valuable manure in 
the soil. It is by virtue of this last 
action of lime, that it is useful in 
compost-heaps, if added before the 
manure is decomposed ; but it should 
never be applied to decomposed 
animal matters, as it always expels 
the ammonia already formed in the 

Guano, if of good quahty, is per- 
haps the cheapest form in which the 
farmer can purchase ammonia, that 
most valuable of all his manuring 
agents. Guano, as is well known, is 
deposited by marine-birds on unin- 
habited, roclcy shores in regions of 
the earth where it seldom or never 
rains, or on sea-islands under similar 
circumstances, and which are never 

overflowed by the ocean. If these 
conditions are fully met, the result is 
an accumulation of immense deposits 
of a rich and valuable manure, cov- 
.ering the entire siu'face from one to 
ninety feet in thickness, and contain- 
ing the accumulated treasures of 
centuries. These deposits are pe- 
culiarly rich in soluble ammoniacal 
salts, and if drenching rains too fre- 
quently descend upon them, they of 
course, hke our barn-yard manures, 
have these most valuable ingredients 
rapidly leached out, and carried off by 
the drainage. Our best guano comes 
from the rainless region of Peru, 
which lies between the fifth and 
twentieth degrees of south latitude. 
Its special value consists in the 
abundance of its ammoniacal salts, 
by which it acts as a universal stim- 
ulant to all -sorts of plants in all 
kinds of soils. So powerful, howev- 
er, is the action, that it should always 
be thoroughly mixed with earth, not 
only to prevent its contact directly 
with the tender roots of plants, but 
also to absorb the ammonia which 
would rapidly escape under the heat- 
ing effects of a summer sun. Near- 
ly one-half of good Peruvian guano 
consists of salts of amtnonia, and 
from one fourth to one nfth of salts 
of phosphoric acid. Both of these 
constituents are highly important, so 
much so tliat it is a matter of con- 
troversy to which of them its quali- 
ties as a manure should be most 
largely ascribed. 

To the first is due, unquestionably, 
its highly stimulating and forcing ef- 
fects, on account of which guano is 
specially valuable when mixed with 
other less active manures. When 
added to stable composts its ammo- 
nia gives to the young germ a more 
vigorous start by supplying it abund- 
antly with nutriment before the oth- 
er matters have become sufficiently 
decomposed to be digested by the 
tender roots. The start, of course, 
renders the plant more vigorous, and 
therefore its vital energies are more 
able to resist all injuries, either from 
disease or insects. On the other 
hand, the phosphates have a more 


Agricultural Science. 


permanent action, and are required 
in large quantities by the seeds of all 
the cereal crops. When judiciously 
applied, experience has shown that 
guano will increase thirty per cent 
the usual yield of grain, beets, and 
potatoes, while it greatly improves 
all varieties of field and garden-crops. 

The precise time of application, 
whether before the crop is planted, 
or at the time of sowing the seeds, or 
after the plants have come up, is of 
comparatively little importance pro- 
vided suitable precautions are taken 
to prevent the escape of the ammo- 
nia, and provided, also, it is applied 
in time to allow the plants to have 
free use of it in the early period of 
their growth. 

Gypsum, or plaster of Paris, has 
also its peculiar and specific action, 
in many cases of great interest to 
the farmer. Containing both lime 
and sulphur, it furnishes in a two- 
fold form essential elements for the 
composition of plants. Lime and sul- 
phuric acid are each required to a 
greater or less extent by all of our 
field-crops, and the latter is often de- 
ficient especially where oats, pota- 
toes, or turnips are cultivated, as 
these crops extract it from the soil 
in considei able quantities. But the 
more common use of gypsum is as 
an absorbent of ammonia; for this 
purpose it is valuable when sprinkled 
around our stables, poultry-houses, 
and wherever else offensive but use- 
ful gases are escaping into the air 
from decomposing animal substances. 

The sulphuric acid of the gypsum, 
by combining with these gases, not 
only preserves them as valuable ma- 
nures for future crops, but at the 
same time purifies and renders more 
healthful the surrounding ' atmos- 
phere. Gypsum, even when scatter- 
ed upon the open fields, exerts a 
similar action upon the ammonia 
which is always present in the air, 
absorbing and fixing it in the soil 
for the benefit of the growing plant. 
Upon chemical principles, a substi- 
tute for gypsum, in most of its uses, 
may be easily manufactured by eve- 
ry farmer out of common lime and 

salt, at a cost much less than the 
usual price of plaster. Take pure 
fresh lime, and slack it with water 
thoroughly saturated with common 
salt, at the rate of three bushels of 
lime to one of salt. Allow the mix- 
ture to remain under shelter ten or 
twelve days, the longer the better, 
applying the salt brine at intervals, 
and stirring the mass till the whole 
of the brine is absorbed by the slack- 
ing process. The work is then done. 
The lime by its powerful aflBnity, 
aided by heat and other chemical ac- 
tions involved in the process, has de- 
composed the salt and appropriated 
its chlorine, forming chloride of lime, 
while the sodium of the salt thus set 
free has become oxidized, and unit- 
ing with the carbonic acid of the air, 
is converted into carbonate of soda. 
Both the chloride of lime and the 
carbonate of soda thus formed are 
useful agents in the hands of the 
practical farmer ; but it is the first 
w^hich specially substitutes for gyp- 
sum as an absorbent of fertilizing 
gases, and may be used in its place 
successfully in all cases where a dis- 
infecting and absorbing agent is de- 

As a food for plants, this com- 
pound also furnishes to the soil more 
of the elements that are necessary 
for vegetable growth than is supplied 
by the gypsum for which it is sub- 
stituted, for while the gypsum fur- 
nishes only lime and sulphuric acid, 
the mixture contributes lime, chlo- 
rine, and soda. 

A brief allusion to a single other 
example of the many valuable ma- 
nures which science, aided by the 
skill of practical men, has brought 
within the reach of every farmer, 
must close what we have to say in 
this connection. We refer to the use 
of green manures, or the plowing 
in of green crops for manuring pur- 
poses. If antiquity is any evidence 
of merit, the system of green manur- 
ing, as is shown by the writings of 
Virgil and Xenophon, is entitled to 
the fullest confidence. And in mod- 
ern times the distinguished reputa- 
tion of Flemish farmers throughout 


Agricultural Science. 


all Europe is due perhaps not more 
to their judicious rotation of crops, 
or their skillful and scientific culture 
of the soil, than to their long com- 
bined system of green manuring. 
The crops most appropriate for this 
purpose are those which draw their 
nourishment largely from the atmos- 
phere, among which we may emimer- 
ate clover, peas, turnips, etc. The 
proper time for plowing them under 
is just at the period of blooming, as 
they then contain most nitrogenous 
matter in their composition. 

The benefits accruing from this 
system may be concisely summed up 
as follows : 1. The green manure 
while growing shades the ground. 
3. When plowed under, it furnishes 
on the surface the inorganic salts 
brought up from below by long tap- 
roots. 3. It increases the fertility of 
the land by contributing organic sub- 
stances derived from the air. 4. It 
furnishes its valuable manures on the 
spot without the expense and trouble 
of hauling. 5. It loosens and mel- 
lows the soil by being incorporated 
with it. G. It warms the soil by its 

Thus we have submitted rather a 
meagre synopsis than a full discus- 
sion of some of the more interesting 
practical matters connected with the 
farm and its interests. And, now, 
in conclusion, may we not fairly 
reckon also, among the practical re- 
sults which have followed from the 
connection of agricultural science with 
agricultural art, its religious bearings, 
the insight which it gives into the wis- 
dom, power, and goodness of God? 

The farmer, in the legitimate pur- 
suit of his calling, is necessarily a 
student of nature, being brought into 
daily contract with the works and 
ways' of the great Creator; and as 
he watches the revolutions of organic 
matter from life to death, and from 
death back to life again, he can but 
see that 

" All are but parts of one stupendous whole. 
Whose body nature is, and God the soul;" 

and in no pantheistic sense either ; 
for everywhere are found the proofs 
of design. Germination, growth, 
maturity, decay, and back into 
germination form the links of an 
endless chain — a connected whole — 
parts of a single plan — the offspring 
of a single mind. If he communes 
with inorganic matter, and through 
the medium of his science, interro- 
gates the minutest atoms of the earth, 
he finds them also only agents of the 
great Architect — ministers of his 
that do his pleasure, having each his 
appropriate office work in the one 
universal scheme of the one univer- 
sal Mind. 

Examine one of these dumb-mutes 
of nature. Summon it to your pre- 
sence it is an atom of oxygen. 
By experiment and observation in- 
quire its mission; even while you 
speak, it vitalizes the breath you 
draw. Watch it; though it has no 
voice, by a mute but eloquent and 
impressive pantomime, it tells of a 
thousand offices it has been commis- 
sioned to fulfill in the. name of the 
Master. Here with noiseless tread it 
acts as scavenger, consuming and 
removing by the slow process of de- 
cay the loathsome carcasses of the 
earth from the sight of man; there 
on rapid wing it seizes the pestilen- 
tial vapors of the atmosphere and 
converts them into healthful air. 
Here it grapples with the sluggish 
particles of carbon, seizing and hur- 
rying them away to their appointed 
place in the framework of some giant 
oak ; and anon it touches with a love- 
lier hue the delicate petals of some 
tiny flower, or kindles with a richer 
glow the iDlood that mantles the 
cheek of beauty. Everywhere it 
points to a God of love and mercy 
— a God over all, through all, and in 
all. Such are the daily lessons of 
nature. Such is the daily pursuit of 
the farmer. 

Pkof. J. R. B, 


Chat and Glippin^s. 



We have heard of persons falling 
in love -with one another at first sight ; 
of a passion kindled up by the sight 
of photographs mutually exchanged, 
without the sight of the person ; and 
of engagements entered into, not from 
a view of any charms of the outward 
form, but from an acquaintance with 
the mind and heart obtained through 
friends, and by correspondence in 

But who in modern times, even 
among the writers of romances, ever 
dreamed of parties becoming mutually 
enamored of each other by the views 
they had in dreams ? There is, how- 
ever, a singular story to this effect 
which has come down from antiquity. 

As the legend goes, a King of Scy- 
thia, by the name of Omartes, had a 
daughter by the name of Odatis, the 
only one. She and the king of the coun- • 
try above the Black Sea, between the 
river Don and the Caspian Sea, "fell 
mutually in love from the sight of one 
another's image in a dream. But Omar- 
tes, her father, having no son, wished 
her to marry one of his own relatives 
or near friends. He therefore sum- 
moned them all to a banquet, at which 
he desired Odatis to fill a cup with 
wine, and give it to whomsoever she 

chose for her husband. Meanwhile, 
however, Zariadres (the king who had 
fallen in lov« with her) had received 
notice from her of her father's inten- 
tions, and, being engaged in a military 
expedition near the banks of the Don, 
he set out with only one attendant ; 
and having traveled eight hundred 
stadia, (one hundred miles,) arrived in 
the banquet-hall of Omartes, disguised 
in a Scythian dress, just as Odatis, 
reluctantly and in tears, was mixing 
the wine at the board where the gob- 
lets stood. Advancing close to her 
side, he whispered, ' Odatis, I am 
here at thy desire, I, Zariadres.' 
Looking up she recognized with joy 
the beautiful youth of her dream, and 
placed the cup in his hands. Imme- 
diately he seized and bore her off to 
his chariot ; and so the lovers escaped, 
favored by the sympathizing attend- 
ants of the palace, who, when Omar- 
tes ordered them to pursue the fugi- 
tives, professed ignorance of the way 
they had taken." 

It is singular that this story, so pop- 
ular of old in Asia, has not been work- 
ed over by some of our novelists. It 
is found in Smith's Dictionary of 
Greek and Roman Biography. 


Popilius, as general, held a province 
where Cato's son served in his army. 
It happened that Popilius thought 
proper to disband one legion ; he 
dismissed, at the same time, Cato's 
son, who was serving in that legion. 
When, however, through love of a 
military life, he remained in the army, 
his father wrote to Popilius, that if he 
suffered him to continue in the ser- 
vice he should, for a second time, bind 
him by the military oath ; because the 
obligation of the former having been 
annulled, he could not lawfully fight 

with the enemy. So very strict was 
their observance of laws in making 
war. There is extant a letter of old 
Cato to his son on this occasion, in 
which he writes, that he heard he 
had got his discharge from the con- 
sul, while he was serving as a soldier 
in Macedonia, during the war with 
Perseus. He therefore enjoins him to 
take care not to enter upon action ; 
for he declares that it is not lawful for 
a man who is not a soldier to fight 
with an enemy. — Cicero. 


Chat and Clippings. 



There is a closer connection be- 
tn-een freedom of trade and freedom 
of institutions than is generally im- 
agined ; every protected interest ex- 
ists at the expense of all the other 
classes of the community, and being 
based on injustice, must connive at 
injustice in others. Prospective loss, 
however great, is constantly hazarded 
by the ignorant and unthinking for 

immediate gain, however small. And 
it was this selfish policy which enabled 
the Austrian line of Spanish monarchs 
to overthrow the ancient constitution 
of the country, and to render Spain a 
memorable example of the great truth 
that a land of monopoly soon becomes 
a land of slavery, and eventually a 
land of misery. — Taylor's Manual of 


"We of the South can not feel too 
grateful to this noble city for her 
kindness to our prisoners during the 
war, for her princely charities to our 
sufferers all over the South, not ex- 
hibited merely in the Great Fair, 
which raised $100,000 for their re- 
lief, but also in" thousands of acts of 
private beneficence known only to 
the individuals relieved by it. "We 
subjoin an article which shows that 
our cotemporaries as well as our- 
selves feel that grateful acknowledg- 
ments are due to those who have 
been " friends in need." Now the 
gratitude of words may be a very 
beautiful thing, but that of deeds is 
much more lovely. "We trust soon 
to be able to show how our apprecia- 
tion of disinterested goodness may be 
exhibited in a more substantial man- 

" Baltimore. — Baltimore will ever 
be enshrined in the memories and 
aflfections of the Southern people. 
That city and its people have sympa- 
thized with us in prosperity and ad- 
versity. And now in the hour of 
our poverty and suffering they have 
not forgo4:teu us. Theirs has been 
love without reward, kindness with- 
out recompense, save in our eternal 

" The plan lately put on foot by 
hundreds, nay thousands of the noble 
men and women of Baltimore, to hold 
a great fair or bazaar in their city 
shortly after Easter, for the benefit 
of the suffering and poverty-stricken 

2)eople of the South, is a noble evi- 
dence of the love and charity of Bal- 
timore. ■ Speaking for our people, we 
find a difficulty in expressing all we 
feel, when we contemplate this touch- 
ing example of sublime charity, so 
nobly displayed by the people of Bal- 

"This is no ordinary fair which 
they are inaugurating, but it is a gi- 
gantic effort of humanity and love ; 
it is the substantial utterance of 
great-souled men and noble-hearted 
women who have heard the cry of 
distress which has gone up from our 
people, and having heard it, respond- 
ed in acts and not in words. "We 
shall not forget it. It finds a grate- 
ful echo in our breasts and cheers us 
by its tones even as the voice of a 
loved friend brings consolation to the 
house of grief and suffering. 

"In the bleak moral desert of this 
cold and selfish world, Baltimore 
greets us with an oasis of love and 
compassion. God bless her lovely 
women and whole-souled men ! Al- 
ready are their names and memories 
dear and sacred to many of our sons 
and brothers, who once languished 
and pined in prison. The deed of 
holy charity with which they now 
crown themselves will fill the meas- 
ure of their fame, and cause their 
memories to shine with celestial light. 
The aid which they shall render to 
our suffering people, will send a ray 
of happiness to many a darkened 
household, whose inmates, fed and 


Ghat and Clippings. 


clothed by the beautiful charity of pray for her people." — Richmond 
Baltimore, will bless her name and Times. 


The Hon. Charles E. A. Gayarr^, 
the author of the History of Louisi- 
ana, and himself a descendant of the 
historical family of that State, has 
contributed to De Bow's Eeview the 
annexed beautiful story fi'om Spanish 
history. There is probably no one 
on this continent more familiar with 
Spanish literature than is Mr. Ga- 
yarrg : 

"Some centuries ago two kings 
were contending for the crown of 
Castile. We forget their names for 
the present ; but to facilitate the tell- 
ing of my story, we shall call one 
Alfonso and the other John. Al- 
fonso proclaimed, of course, that 
John was a usurper and a rebel, and 
John returned the compliment. Well, 
John at last defeated his rival, horse 
and foot, and carried every thing tri- 
umphantly before him, with the ex- 
ception of a single town, which Al- 
fonso had intrusted to a stout old 
knight called Aguilar, and which, 
after a long siege, still remained im- 

" 'You have done enough for hon- 
or,' said King John one day to. the 
knight, ' surrender and you shall 
have the most liberal terms.' ' If 
you had read the history of your 
country,' answered Aguilar, 'you 
would have known that none of my 
race ever capitulated.' ' I will starve 
you, proud and obstinate fool.' 
' Starve the eagle, if you can.' ' I 
will put you and the whole garrison 
to the sword.' ' Try,' was the laconic 
reply, and the siege went on. 

" One morning, as the rising sun 
was beginning to gild with its rays 
the highest towers of the beleaguered 
city, a parley sounded from the camp 
of the enemy. The old knight ap- 
peared on the wall, and looked down 
on the king below. ' Surrender,' 
said John again. 'My rival, Al- 
fonso, is dead, and the whole of 
Castile recognizes my sway, as that 

of its legitimate sovereign.' 'Sire, I 
believe you, but I must see my dead 
master.' ' Go, then, to Seville, where 
his body lies. You have my royal 
word that I shall attempt nothing 
against you on your way ; nor against 
the city in your absence.' The 
knight came out with banner fliying, 
and a small escort of grim-visaged 
warriors. Behind him the gates 
closed ; before him the dense battal- 
ions of the enemy opened their ranks, 
and as he passed along, slowly riding 
his noble war-horse, shouts of ad- 
miration burst wide and far from the 
whole host who had so often wit- 
nessed his deeds of valor, and the 
echoes of the loud and enthusiastic 
greeting accompanied him until the 
red plume which waved in his helmet 
was out of sight. 

" He arrived at Seville, and went 
straight to the Cathedral, where he 
found the tomb of his former sove- 
reign. He had it opened, and gazing 
awhile with moist eyes at the pale 
face which met his look, he thus ad- 
dressed the dead monarch : ' Sire, I 
had sworn never to deliver to any 
body but yourself the keys of the 
town, which you had intrusted to 
my care. Here they are. I have 
kept my oath.' And he deposited 
them on the breast of King Alfonso. 
Then, bestriding his good steed, he 
galloped back to his post. As soon 
as he approached, again the ranks of 
the enemy opened, and King John 
confronted him. 'Well,' said the 
King, 'are you satisfied, and do j^ou 
now give up the contest V ' Yes, 
Sire.' ' Where are the keys of the 
town ?' ' On King Alfonso's breast. 
Go and get them. We meet no 
more.' ' By heaven ! we shall never 
part,' exclaimed the king; 'get the 
keys back yourself and remain in 
command of the town in my name.' 
The followers of the king murmured, 
and complained of his rewarding a 

IQQ Chat and Clipiyings^ [June, 1866. 

rebel. ' He is no longer one,' said those men who have fought to the 

Kino- John ; 'such rebels, when won, last for the cause which they loved, 

become the best subjects.' and which claimed their fidelity. 

" Had we the honor," said Mr. Ga- Trust those rebels who come to you 

yarre, "of approaching the President, "with clean hands, and after having 

we would take the liberty of saying deposited the keys of their loyalty 

to him : Follow this example, re- on the dead body of the Southern 

spected sir. Trust, without fear, Confederacy." 


We don't know who wrote the lines below, but we regard them as beau- 
tiful as they are true. 

Representing nothing on God's earth now, 

And naught in the waters below it ; 
As a pledge of a nation that's dead and gone. 
Keep it, dear friend, and show it. 

Show it to those who will lend an ear 
To the tale that this paper can tell ; 
Of liberty born, of the patriot's dream, 
Of a storm-cradled nation that fell. 

Too poor to possess the precious ores. 
And too much a stranger to borrow. 
We issued to-day our promise to pay. 
Hoping to redeem on the morrow. 
But days flew by, weeks became years, 

Our coffers were empty still ; 
Coin was so rare, the treasury 'd quake 
If a dollar should drop in the till. 

We knew it had scarcely a value in gold. 

Yet as gold the soldiers received it ; 

It looked in our ej'cs a promise to pay. 

And each patriot soldier believed it. 

But the faith that was in us was strong, indeed, 
: And our poverty well we discerned ; 

And these little checks represented the pay 
That our suffering veterans earned. 

But our boys thought little of price or pay, 

Or of bills that were overdue ; 
We knew if it bought us our bread to-day, 
'Twas the best our poor country could do. 
Keep it — it tells all our history over. 

From the birth of the dream to its last ; 
Modest and born of the angel hope. 
Like our hope of success, it passed. 
PacuMOND, Va., June, 1865. S. A. J. 


No. in. JULY, 1866. Vol. L 


The land we love — a queen of lands, 
No prouder one the world has known, 
Though now uncrowned, upon her throne 
She sits with fetters on her hands. 

True royalty is sterling worth, 
And noble deeds the right divine ; 
Her empire sways from clime to clime 
Wherever manly thought has birth ! 

And through all coming ages sure 
Her honor, founded on the rock 
Of truth, shall grandly bear the shock 
Of malice, and undimmed endure. 

Man did not conquer her, but God, 
For some wise purpose of his own, 
Withdrew his arm ; she, left alone. 
Sank down resistless 'neath his rod. 

God chastens most whom he loves best. 
And scourges whom he will receive ; 
The land we love may cease to grieve, 
And on his gracious promise rest ! 

Nestling her children to her side. 
She fought to make those children free ; 
And when, by heaven's supreme decree. 
Her last fond hope of freedom died, 

She nobly yielded to its might. 
Gasping amid her fiercest pain : 
" God's way ! — and he will make it plain — 
" His evening-time will bring us light !" 
VOL. I.— NO. III. 12 


The Minerals of North- Carolina. 


Four years to battle for the right, 
' And warfare with the world sustain ; 

Yet on her 'scutcheon not one stain — 
No blot upon her banner white ! 

Land that we love— Southern land ! 
(Far dearer to thy children now 
With desolation on thy brow, 
Than when at thy supreme command 

Thy hosts embattled, and the stream 
Of triumph rolled its purple tide 
Throughout thy golden borders wide, 
And bathed thee with a rainbow gleam,) 

Though howling waves around thee toss, 
Rest calm in thine exalted strength, 
Sublime though ruined, till at length, 
The crown of heaven replace thy cross ! 

Fanny Downing. 
Charlotte, June 7, 18G6. 


Hitherto, almost the whole capital 
and enterprise of North-Carolina have 
been devoted to agriculture. Whether 
this policy were more conducive to 
the highest prosperity of a state than 
a diversity -of occupations among her 
people, was a question often dis- 
cussed by her more intelligent and 
thoughtful citizens. That it was not 
necessary nor natural, was evident 
to any one who considered for a mo- 
ment the great variety and extent of 
her resources. But whether wise or 
not in the former relations of capi- 
tal and labor, it is apparent to all 
that under the changed condition of 
affairs, the old status can no longer 
continue. We enter upon a new era, 
wherein there is to be, in our work, 
less routine, less hereditariness, less 
uniformity, and more individuality, 
more novelty, more originality, and 
consequently more variety. Under 
the strong impulsion of necessity, 
we shall take hold of any means and 
every means which a bountiful Pro- 
vidence has placed at our hands for 
supplying our wants, bettering our 
condition, and repairing our shat- 

tered fortunes. We must diligently 
"interrogate Nature;" and if our 
soil is capable of higher fertility and 
of more varied and more valuable 
products, it must be put under se- 
verer contribution ; if there are other 
and better markets, we must make a 
way to reach them; if our forests 
yield timber of value in the arts and 
manufactures of foreign nations, we 
must find and prepare it, and give it 
to commerce; if our climate is adapt- 
ed to the cultivation of the vine and 
the development of new industries, 
we must by no means lose the op- 
portunity ; if our table-lands and 
elevated mountain slopes can be turn- 
ed to a valuable account in cattle-rais- 
ing and wool-growing, we must no 
longer neglect so promising a source 
of wealth and prosperity ; if our nu- 
merous rivers, in their extended 
courses from the mountains to the 
sea, can be made to manufacture the 
crude products of our fields, forests, 
flocks and mines into more valuable 
merchandise, and then to transport 
them to the world's markets, then 
must they no longer be allowed to 


The Minerals of North- Carolina. 


mock and taunt us with their indolent 
roar and idle murmur ; if the rock-rib- 
bed earth itself, in the crags of the 
mountains, the ledges of the hills, or 
the beds of the plains, can furnish from 
their quarries material for the archi- 
tect or the sculptor, or for any of 
the thousand and one arts of use or 
ornament of modern civilized life, or 
if there be "a vein for silver," or 
"dust of gold," or if Nature has laid 
up for us, in her ample store-house, 
accumulations of the more useful 
minerals, as coal, iron, etc., no labor 
or difficulty must deter us from ex- 
huming these treasures. And doubt- 
less, in our eager search and narrow 
scrutiny of all the feasibilities and 
possibilities of our new situation, we 
shall discover new and hitherto un- 
suspected sources of prosperity and 
of wealth within our borders. So 
that, wide as is the desolation " on 
all sides round," irreparable as are 
the losses, and heavy the calamities 
which have overtaken us, we can al- 
ready begin to discern how it may 
turn out that the overthrow of our 
cherished systems and modes has 
not been wholly an evil, even in the 
material aspect of it and leaving out 
of view the higher " uses of adver- 
sity," and the moral meaning and 
intendment of such providential chas- 

It is safe to assume that the peo- 
ple of North-Carolina, with their ac- 
customed sound judgment and prac- 
tical good sense, will have accepted 
the inevitable as the decree of Provi- 
dence, and will at once go about to 
adapt themselves to the new condi- 
tions and address themselves to the 
new tasks before them. In order to 
do this intelligently and successfully, 
one of the first things necessary to 
be done is to take a survey of our 
means and resources. As a contri- 
bution toward this end, we propose 
a brief review of the minerals of 
North-Carolina. "We shall avoid tech- 
nicalities as far as practicable. 

A statement of some general prin- 
ciples, and a few observations on the 
leading geological features of the 
country, will make the subject more 

intelligible. The position and gen- 
eral arrangement and condition of 
the rocks of a region have always an 
intimate dependence on its mountain 
systems. The strike, or direction of 
out-crop, and the dip of the strata, 
may generally be predicted as soon 
as the direction of the dominant 
mountain range is ascertained. Thus 
the different beds of rock on the east- 
ern side of our continent fall into 
parallelism with the axis of upheaval 
• of the Apalachian system. The gen- 
eral direction of the Blue Ridge, 
therefore, gives us the geological 
meridian to which all the rocks of 
North- Carolina * must be referred. 
This direction is nearly north-east 
and south-west. Every one has no- 
ticed that the edges of the outcrop- 
ping strata, and in general the trap 
dykes and mineral veins, take this 
direction predominantly in our lati- 
tude. The beds of slate, limestone, 
gneiss, etc., follow each other in 
regular succession, all trending away 
to the north-east. So that in passing 
from the sea-coast to the mountains, 
we cross successively in our track 
the upturned edges of the whole 
series. Thus we have the clue to 
the distribution and arrangement of 
the rocks in mass. In the study of 
the metalliferous minerals, it is im- 
portant to bear in mind two leading 
facts : first, that they are found, es- 
pecially the precious metals, chiefly ■ 
on the flanks of mountains and in 
tracts marked by disturbance and 
upheaval, in the vicinity of trap dykes 
and other eruptive rocks, and at the 
intersections of these with slates ; 
and second, that their occurrence is 
mostly limited to the oldest forma- 
tions, the primary and lower second- 

The rocks of North-Carolina be- 
long to this lowest horizon, being 
wholly included, with the unimport- 
ant exception of the coal-fields, in 
the primary group. So that we are 
prepared for the statement that there 
is hardly to le found a territory of 
the same extent with so great a varie- 
ty of valuable minerals. 

In the treatment of this subject 


The Minerals of North- Carolina. 


it will be sufficiently precise for our 
purpose to divide the useful minerals 
into two classes, namely, the metallif- 
erous ores, which occur mostly in 
veins, as gold, copper, etc., and 
earthy minerals and rocks, which 
are found mostly in beds, as coal, 
limestone, etc. 

Under the first division occur gold, 
silver, copper, lead, zinc, iron, and 
tungsten, and here, for convenience, 
may be added the diamond ; and 
under the second may be mentioned, 
as occurring in this State under such 
circumstances as render them eco- 
nomically valuable, coal, limestone, 
marble, architectural granite, sand- 
stone, porphyry, fire-stone, buhr- 
stone, grind-stone, grit, whet-stone, 
slate, roofing-slate, alum and cop- 
peras slate, soap-stone, serpentine, 
agalroatolite, fireclay, graphite, gar- 
net, barytes, manganese, kerosene 
oil slates, and chromate of iron. 

The second division being most 
important, will first claim attention ; 
and first among these, coal. The 
value of this mineral is too well 
known to require statement even. 
The development of all other arts 
and industries is connected dii'ectly 
with its abundance and cheapness. 
It is found in two districts in North- 
Carolina, known as the Deep River 
and Dan River coal-fields. In both, 
the coal is bituminous, and occupies 
a narrow tract of country along the 
course of the rivers fi'om which they 
respectively take their names. These 
beds, therefore, follow in their out- 
crop the general direction of the rocks 
of the country. The Dan River bed 
is distant from market, and has been 
little explored. There is an out-crop 
in Rockingham and Stokes counties, 
one seam beiiig four feet thick. The 
Deep River bed is better known and 
probably more extensive. It is de- 
scribed in detail in the Geological 
Reports of Dr. Emmons for 1852 
and 1856, and also by Admiral 
Wilkes, in his report to the Secretary 
of the Navy in 1859. According to 
these authorities, this coal is of the 
best quality, well adapted to the ma- 
nufacture of iron and gas, and is in- 

exhaustible in quantity. They re- 
present it as extending over an area 
of more than 40 square miles, and 
containing more than 6,000,000 tons 
in each mile. This bed, therefore, 
would yield 1,000,000 tons annually 
for several hundred years. 

These North-Carolina coal-fields 
are cotemporaneous with those of 
Virginia, and belong to an age 
more recent than the Apalachian 
coal formation, which ranges from 
Pennsylvania to Alabama. They 
belong to the later ages of the 
secondary. The bituminous slates 
associated with the coal are strongly 
impregnated with organic products. 
Dr. Emmons says: "From 30 to 40 
gallons of crude kerosene oil exist 
in every ton of these slates. They 
are from 50 to 70 feet thick, and it is 
proper to state that it is a better oil 
than is furnished from coal." 

The coal lies in a trough-like de- 
pression, which extends from Gran- 
ville county in a south-west direction 
into South-Carolina. This tract is 
occupied in its whole length by a 
heavy body of sandstones of the 
same age with the coal. They are 
identical in appearance, quality, and 
age with the brown stone of Con- 
necticut valley, which is so ex- 
tensively used as a building stone 
in New- York and elsewhere. These 
sandstones are also extensively quar- 
ried for grindstones, for which they 
are well adapted. 

Beds of fireclay, also, are inter- 
stratified with the coal. This mine- 
ral is found in various parts of the 
State, conspicuously in Gaston 

There are five or six parallel belts 
of sandstone and quartzite, belong- 
ing to the older rocks, which trav- 
erse the State in the prevailing direc- 
tion, and in which are found various 
grades of building-stones, fire-stones, 
and grindstones. According to Dr. 
Emmons, one of these passes to the 
eastward of Raleigh, another a few 
miles to the westward, and a third 
crosses the counties Montgomery, 
Randolph, and Orange. The well- 
known fire-s-tones of Gaston, Lincoln, 


The Minerals of NortJi- Carolina. 


and Catawba, occur in the fourth 
belt which crops out along the line 
of upheaval of King's Mountain, 
Crowder's Mountain, and Little 
Mountain. This rock in places as- 
sumes the character of white gran- 
ular quartz (saccharoidal quartz of 
the mineralogist) and attains suffi- 
cient purity to be used in the manu- 
facture of glass. Linville Mountain, 
in McDowell county, at the eastern 
base of the Blue Ridge, is chiefly 
made up of the same rock. Here 
is found the flexible sandstone (Ita- 
columite of the mineralogist) in 
which the diamond occurs in other 
parts of the world. The Nautehaleh 
Mountain, in Macon and Cherokee 
repose upon an immense develop- 
ment of a similar rock, and doubt- 
less belonging to the same formation. 

Above the sandstone of this 
group, in at least three of the belts 
described, lies a bed of limestone ; 
along the Catawba, at the base of 
the Blue Ridge, and of the Naute- 
haleh. This limestone in some local- 
ities reaches the purity and structure 
of marble. Specimens equal to the 
best Italian are brought from the 
Nautehaleh. This association of 
limestone in the west renders its oc- 
currence probable in the same rocks 
in the eastern localities. And Dr. 
Emmons reported having discovered 
symptoms of its presence in Mont- 
gomery and Randolph. The lime- 
stone along the north-west border of 
Wake probably belongs to this series. 

Agalmatolite constitutes another 
member of this sandstone group in 
at least two of the zones, being 
found in this connection in Mont- 
gomery and Chatham, as well as 
on the Nautehaleh river. This 
rock is miscalled soapstone, which 
it resembles in some of its prop- 
erties and uses. It is developed 
on a very large scale, and in no part 
of the world is it found in greater 
purity or extent. Its uses in the arts 
are manifold, being substituted for 
graphite in lubrication, and for soap- 
stone in furnaces, prepared as a cos- 
metic and a pigment, and manufac- 
tured into soap, into ornaments, and 

the finer kinds of porcelain ware. 
It has been exported for this latter 
purpose in large quantities to New- 
York and to Germany. 

Here also belong the famous 
graphite or plumbago beds of Wake 
county, being found immediately un- 
der the sandstone. It occurs like- 
wise in the same connection in the 
Catawba belt and scattered through 
several counties westward. The 
uses of this mineral are well known 
and important, the principal of which 
are, for the so-called lead pencils, for 
crucibles, for paint, for lubrication 
and for electrotypy. The Wake 
county mines have been worked to a 
considerable extent, and will no 
doubt be reopened. These are the 
most extensive beds of this mineral 

The quartz rock of this group in 
Montgomery takes the form of a 
buhrstone, which is supposed to be 
valuable for the manufacture of mill- 

Soapstone and serpentine of good 
quality are found in various parts of 
the State, for example, in Wake,Moore, 
Orange, Randolph, Mecklenburg and 
Cadwell, and west of the Blue Ridge 
there is a remarkable dyke of serpen- 
tine traversing the State from Jack- 
son to Mitchell, which carries a great 
variety of minerals interesting to the 
mineralogist, and one at least that 
might become valuable economically. 
Here is one of the few veins of chro- 
mate of iron found in the United 
States. This mineral yields a larger 
number of valuable paints than any 
other substance known. 

In close proximity to this serpen- 
tine dyke appears in Yancey county, 
a large body of massive garnet, 
which might be turned to good ac- 
count in the manufacture of emery. 

The slate formation, which occu- 
pies a tract of the State not less 
than 40 miles in width, lies west of 
the coal-rocks of Deep river, and 
extends in a north-east direction 
from Anson and Union counties on 
the southern border to the Virginia 
line. These slates constitute a nota- 
ble feature in the geology of the 


Tlie Min&rah of North-Carolina. 


State, and in addition to the interest 
which attaches to the numerous 
mines along the south-western bor- 
der, they contain extensive beds of 
roofing-slates, whetstone slates, and 
turkey hones, (novaculite.) Scythe- 
stones are also found on the Nau- 
tehaleh, of good quahty and in great 

Alum and copperas slates abound 
in many parts of the State, and have 
been extensively brought into re- 
quisition during the stress of the war. 
The counties of Cleveland and Ruth- 
erford alone contain not less than 
100 square miles of these rocks, and 
could easily supply the continent 
with copperas. This material is de- 
rived, by the process of weathering, 
from the iron pyrites, which is dis- 
seminated in great abundance, and in 
a state of extreme comminution 
through the slates, many of which, 
being feldspathic, yield also alum. 

The pyritous character of these 
rocks accounts also for the numerous 
mineral springs, sulphur and chaly- 
beate, for Avhich this region is noted. 
Among these, Wilson's Springs are 
the best known. They belong to 
both the white and red sulphur wa- 
ters, as they are called, and have 
no superior in Virginia or elsewhere. 
Mineral waters are not limited to this 
region, however. No section of the 
State is destitute of them, and in the 
mountains they are found every- 

Barytes occurs in Orange, in the 
mines of Cabanus and in Gaston ; and 
manganese also, in Cabanus and Gas- 
ton, as well as in Lincoln, Catawba, 
and elsewhere. 

It might be inferred from what has 
been said, and perhaps still more from 
what has not been said, in reference 
to the distribution of minerals in the 
State, that the tertiary or seaboard 
region is entirely destitute of mineral 
wealth. But nature distributes her 
gifts with a more equal hand. I doubt 
whether an intelligent Edgecombe 
farmer would exchange his marl-beds 
for the coal of Chatham, or all the 
mines of the west. And perhaps he 
is right. He has at least one import- 

ant advantage, that his profits from 
that source are immediate and certain, 
and his outlay almost nothing. This 
valuable material is liberally scatter- 
ed over most of the seacoast section 
of the State, and is found in every de- 
gree of purity and of consolidation, 
from a mere aggregation of loose shells 
to the most compact limestone, suit- 
able for building or for burning into 
lime. The famous Bath stone of 
London is matched by some of these 
beds. The iiiarl is generally found 
near the surface and easily accessible. 
The importance _of these accumula- 
tions of mineral manure to the agri- 
culture of the State is only beginning 
to be appreciated. Our farmers are 
only beginning to understand the es- 
sential part which lime plays in the 
economy of vegetable growth, and 
its important relations to exhausted 

We pass to the other division of 
minerals, the metalliferous ores. 

To the unpracticed ej^e, nothing 
presents a picture of more hopeless 
disorder and chaos than the rocks, 
particularly in a region of great dis- 
turbance, as in a mountainous coun- 
try. Here seems truly "a land of 
darkness, without any order, and 
where the light is as darkness." And 
yet, at the touch of science, order 
rises out of this confusion and light 
spreads over this darkness. In a re- 
gion of the wildest riot of disorder, 
dislocation, disturbance, and inver- 
sion, under the patient and inevitable 
inductions of geology, the upheaved, 
overturned, and distorted strata fall 
into rank and regularity along certain 
axes and group themselves orderly 
about certain centres. As the sand- 
stones, limestones, etc., of the pre- 
vious division were found to acknowl- 
edge certain relationships inter se, and 
toward a controlling geological meri- 
dian, so it will appear that the metal- 
liferous ores are not scattered at ran- 
dom and as if by chance, (even with- 
in the limitations already stated, of a 
disturbed area and a low geological 
horizon,) but have a subordinate 
grouping and a palpable arrangement. 

And first, of iron, king of metals ; 


The Minerals of Nortli- Carolina. 


so, because it constitutes the very 
frame-work, as it were, of our mate- 
rial civilization, without which the 
Avhole fabric would vanish like the 
fabled ship on approaching the mag- 
netic mountain. 

North-Carolina is peculiarly for- 
tunate in the possession of an abund- 
ance of the best ores, and so widely 
distributed and in so immediate jux- 
taposition with the other materials 
and means for smelting it, that each 
section, except the sea-board coun- 
ties, can produce its own supply. 
These ores occupy three or four nar- 
row tracts or districts, having indeed 
an obvious relation to the mineral 
belts already pointed out. This re- 
lation is most obvious and most im- 
mediate in the trans-Catawba tract, 
being found in heavy veins along the 
outcrop of the sandstone from King's 
Mountain through Gaston, Lincoln, 
and Catawba to Stokes, Davie, and 
Surry. A second belt extends 
through Montgomery, Randolph, and 
Guilford. A third has its largest de- 
velopment in Chatham in the neigh- 
borhood of the coal, but makes its 
appearance also in Johnson and 
Orange. In the coal-beds themselves, 
according to the high authorities al- 
ready cited, exists an important de- 
posit of ore interstratified with the 
coal. West of the Blue Ridge, 
and not far from the sandstone 
belt, is one of the most valua- 
ble accumulations of iron ore to be 
found in the country. It has been 
long famous for the fine quality of the 
metal which it yields. The ore lies 
at the base of the Yellow Mountain 
in Mitchell county. It will doubtless 
be found elsewhere in the further in- 
vestigation of the minerals of this 
almost unexplored mountain region. 
The ore is found at several points 
outside of these well-marked districts. 
It belongs commonly to the variety 
known as magnetic. To this, how- 
ever, there are many exceptions. 
Specular or haematite ore often re- 
places it, or is associated with it. 
The ore at several of the points men- 
tioned is well adapted to the manu- 
facture of steel. The manufacture 

of iron had attained to considerable 
importance in the State previously 
to the late war, during which, of 
course, this industry received a great 
impetus. And when our system of 
•internal improvements shall have 
been completed, this will doubtless 
become one of the most important 
manufactures in the State. 

Gold-mining commenced in North- 
Carolina about fifty years ago. The 
first impulse was given to the busi- 
ness by the accidental discovery of 
some large nuggets in Cabanus and 
Anson counties. Previously to the 
year 1820 not more than $50,000 had 
been obtained. In 1860 the aggre- 
gate yield was not less than 
$10,000,000 ; which would make an 
average annual yield of $250,000. 
The larger part of this was obtained 
from a small area comprising about 
half a dozen counties, lying chiefly 
along the Peedee and Lower Catawba, 
but extending north-east from Meck- 
leburg and Anson to Guilford. Here, 
as elsewhere, the first mining was 
confined to " surface diggings." And 
in 1824, Professor Olmsted of the 
University, then State Geologist, ex- 
pressed doubts about the existence of 
gold-veins in that region. In Califor- 
nia, Australia, along the Andes and 
the Ural — everywhere, in ancient 
and modern times, these superficial 
deposits have been the chief source 
of the precious metal, and have been 
generally more remunerative than 
vein-mines. And it is in this detri- 
tus of sand, gravel and clay, that all 
the large masses of gold have been 
found. They never occur in veins, 
although these detrital accumulations 
are doubtless the debris of denuded 
veins. In North-Carolina, however, 
vein-mining soon obtained great pro- 
minence ; and the larger part of the 
whole product in this State has been 
derived from this source. Some sin- 
gle mines in the gold region have 
yielded from one to two millions. 
And if these mines have not been 
uniformly profitable, it is because 
they have been generally wrought 
with little science or economy. Over- 
man., in Tiis world on Metallurgy ., has 


The Minerals of North- Carolina. 


recorded his conviction that these 
mines, under proper munagement,^ 
would le more frofitdble than those of 

Although the mines are more nu- 
merous and important in the region 
indicated, yet they are by no means 
restricted to so narrow a district. 
Many valuable mines occur far out- 
side of this "gold region," as in 
Moore and Franklin on the east, and 
in Gaston, Catawba, Burke, and as 
far west as Cherokee. The vein- 
gold of this State is usually found 
in a gangue of quartz, or dissemi- 
nated in a slaty veinstone ; and it is 
commonly associated with iron and 
copper pyrites. This association 
almost universally prevails below 
the water-level. These mines, there- 
fore, are of the same character as 
those of California and Colorado, 
and the new methods which have 
been devised during the last few 
years to meet the difficulty of work- 
ing this class of ores will doubtless 
be found applicable here. 

It will be observed that the richest 
gold mines lie along and near the 
line of contact of the slate and gran- 
ite. And it is also along this line 
that the only silver mines of this 
State are found. The most noted of 
these is at Silver Hill, in Davidson 
county. The combination of metals 
here is quite complex — including 
with the silver, gold, lead, copper 
and zinc. A chain of similar mines 
runs south-west along the western 
border <Si the slates, including the 
McMakin and Stewart mines. During 
the war the first-named of these 
mines yielded a considerable quan- 
tity of lead. It had been previously 
worked chiefly for silver and gold. 

Lead has not been found in quan- 
tities to- justify operation elsewhere 
in the State, although its existence 
has been ascertained in several local- 
ities in the mountain region, as in 
McDowell and Cherokee. Both the 
silver and lead of North-Carolina 
are found, mostly in combination 
with sulphur, in Galena. Zinc is 
not known to occur in the State, ex- 

cept in the above-named association 
and localities. 

Copper has been long known as 
an accompaniment of gold in most 
of the mines of that metal, especially 
in those which occur within the belt 
of granite bordering the slates on 
the west. Many of these, which 
were originally operated as gold 
mines were abandoned on account of 
the increase of copper pyrites with 
the depth; and it is only within a 
few years that several of them have 
been reopened as copper mines. A 
considerable quantity of this ore has 
been exported, chiefly from the 
mines of Guilford. And as it is a 
well-established fact that copper 
veins improve downward, and as 
these veins abound in the gold re- 
gion, and have been recently found 
also of a very promising character 
in Ashe county, and are known to 
extend in a well-marked belt of cop- 
per-bearing rocks through several of 
the north-western counties, as far at 
least as Jackson, there is every pro- 
bability that copper-mining will be 
developed into an important interest. 
The mountain region has been little 
explored, the geological survey hav- 
ing been carried only to the Catawba, 
but it will undoubtedly be found to 
be one of the richest mineral sections 
of the State, as it is already one of 
the most interesting and attractive 
on account of its great agricultural 
capabilities, the salubrity of its cli- 
mate, and the grandeur and variety 
of its scenery, containing as it does 
the most elevated table-lands and 
loftiest mountain ranges to be found 
in the Atlantic States. 

Tungsten, a metal which was long 
merely a chemical curiosity, but has 
recently assumed a high value, par- 
ticularly on account of its relation 
to the manufacture of steel, occurs 
in Cabanus. 

Several valuable diamonds have 
been found in the trans-Catawba 
country, in Lincoln and Rutherford 

From this very rapid survey of the 
minerals of North-Carolina, several 


The Minerals of North- Carolina. 


facts worthy of note are evident : 
first, that, though widely distrib- 
uted, they are not scattered at ran- 
dom, but follow a certain order of 
grouping and association ; so that 
the probability of the occurrence of 
a given mineral in any particular 
locality can be approximately ascer- 
tained before examination. So that 
when the iron men over in Gaston 
and Lincoln inquire, as they often 
do, whether they might not find 
coal by digging down in the neigh- 
borhood of some of the black slates 
of that section, they are at once 
answered, those slates are blackened 
by graphite or manganese, and no 
coal will ever be found in rocks of 
that age. And when it is asked 
whether limestone might not be 
found in a certain section, the answer 
will be easy, as soon as it is known 
what kinds of rocks prevail, and 
whether any of the usual associates 
of that mineral appear. And so of 
other such inquiries. Again, it is 
evident that this State is abundantly 
supplied with the more important 
and valuable minerals, those which 
are essential to the permanent and 
successful development of agricul- 
ture and manufactures. Among 
these must be always first named 
iron, coal, and lime. Of the first 
two it has been seen that there is 
the greatest profusion. Of lime, 
however, it may be supposed that 
there is a deficiency. It is true, 
we have no such immense territory 
of limestone as is found in some 
other States ; and yet, upon consid- 
eration, it will be apparent that 
nature has provided an abundant 
store for all possible needs. The 

tertiary region in the east finds an 
ample supply for the purposes of 
agriculture and of architecture in its 
widely diffused beds of marl. And 
although the farmer of the middle 
and western sections may not always 
find an imperative need of this fer- 
tilizer, his soils being frequently de- 
rived by disintegration from rocks 
which contain a considerable per- 
centage of lime, yet, since the 
breadth of the State is traversed 
at comparatively short intervals by 
a number of outcrops of limestone, 
which are crossed almost at right 
angles by our rivers and many of 
our railroads, it is thus brought 
within convenient reach of almost 
every neighborhood. Nature has de- 
nied us only two of the more import- 
ant mineral deposits, salt and gyp- 
sum, (and they may yet be discov- 
ered in the sandstone of the coal.) 
BuC of these two there is an unlimited 
store just across our borders, within 
easy reach, by a short line of rail- 
way, of our network of proposed 
and completed railroads and of our 

Taking, then, in one view our re- 
sources of iron, coal, and lime,' of 
gold and copper, and the great va- 
riety of other minerals of subordi- 
nate but real and increasing value, 
it is suffilpiently apparent that our 
State has here the foundation of in- 
definite wealth and prosperity ; and 
that there is wanting to these ends 
only a vigorous prosecution of our 
system of internal improvements on 
the part of our Legislature, and in- 
telligence, industry, and enterprise 
on that of our citizens. 


'^ctA- cJ - 


Plan of Campaign for 1864. 


plan of campaign for 1864. 

Headquarters, Petersburg, 
en route to E. T., 

March 15, 1864. 
His Excellency President Davis : 

Sir: .... The proposition to 
unite the army of General Johnston, 
with my force, at Maryville, East- 
Tennessee, for the purpose of moving 
into Middle Tennessee, via Sparta, 
may, in its execution, force the enemy 
to withdraw from his present position 
and concentrate near Nashville in 
order to meet us. If he should not 
fight there, we might force him still 
further back by moving into Ken- 
tucky. If he should fight us, our 
forces ought to win a glorious vic- 

I apprehend, however, some diffi- 
culty in making the move so as to 
effect a junction in good time. 

The two armies are about two 
hundred miles apart, with the enemy 
occupying all of the intermediate 
country. As soon as we begin to 
move, the enemy must discover it. 
He occupying the railroad between 
us, will have great facilities for con- 
centrating against either of our ar- 
mies, and might so cripple the one 
that he encounters, as to prevent the 
junction, and thus break up the cam- 
paign; and we should assume that 
he will do this. As there are no sup- 
plies in the country through which 
our armies must pass, before con- 
centration," the enemy might depend 
upon delaying us by occupying the 
mountain passes until our supplies 
are consumed, and force us to retreat 
in that way. The armies would be 
obliged to haul ordnance stores, for- 
age, subsistence, etc., etc., in suf- 
ficient quantities to supply their 
wants from the moment of their set- 
ting out upon the campaign, without 
the surety of finding supplies at 
Sparta. That is, in sufficient quan- 
tities to supply a large army. 

It occurs to me that a better plan 
for making a campaign into Middle 
Tennessee, would be to reenforce 

General Johnston, in his present po- 
sition, by throwing the Mississippi 
troops and those from General Beau- 
regard's department and riiy own to 
that point. 

The shortest practical route by 
which I could join him would be 
over the mountains, about two hun- 
dred miles ; which at this season of 
the year may be attended with con- 
siderable delays by the mountain 
streams. It would probably be bet- 
ter, therefore, to choose a quicker 
route, and inarch from East-Ten- 
nessee to Greenville, South-Carolina, 
and move by rail thence to Atlanta, 
and march up from Atlanta. As 
there are two lines of railway to At- 
lanta, I have assumed that one of 
these may be used for the speedy 
transportation of the troops, whilst 
the other is used in supplying provi- 
sions, etc., etc. 

This move may be made, if it is 
begun very soon, in time to enable us- 
to take the initiative in the approach- 
ing campaign. 

Our strongest and most effective 
move, however, would be into Ken- 
tucky through Pound Gap. This 
can be done by moving General 
Beauregard's army via Greenville, 
South-Carolina, to march through 
Pound Gap, and unite with my forces, 
marching also by Pound Gap, into 

General Beauregard could collect 
his transportation and supplies at 
Greenville for the purpose, ostensi- 
bly, of supplying my army, which 
could be advertised as about to 
march by that route to join General 
Johnston. Having every thing in 
readiness, General Beauregard could 
throw his troops up to Greenville by 
rail, and at once take up the line of 
march for Kentucky; I moving at 
the same moment from Abingdon, 
Virginia. The movement would 
then be so completely masked that 
our own people would not suspect it 
before we were well on the march for 


Plan of Campaign for 1864. 


Kentucky. If General Beauregard 
could march from Morganton, North- 
Carolina, instead of Greenville or 
Spartanburg, South-Carolina, there 
would be about sixty miles less of 
marching, than by making either of 
the other places the starting-point. 

The move itself may not surprise 
the enemy, but the strength of it 
would, and we should in all probabil- 
ity encounter a force of his, which 
could not stand before us. 

If the enemy be obliged to aban- 
don his present position, by this 
move, he must give up nearly if not 
all of Tennessee below the Cumber- 

This of itself will be equal to a 
victory for us. 

If he moves his entire force back, 
for the purpose of meeting General 
Beauregard, he, if he sees fit, may 
avoid him, and our armies, under 
Generals Johnston and Beauregard, 
can unite in Tennessee and thence ad- 
vance into Kentucky. Or if we only 
hold Tennessee without a fight, we 
shall have accomplished a great moral 
advantage. There can scarcely be a 
doubt, however, but that we shall be 
able to advance into Kentucky and 
hold that State, if we are once united. 

I presume that nearly all of Gen- 
eral Beauregard's troops may be 
spared from his department by draw- 
ing off General Loring's division from 
Mississippi, and General Maury's 
from Mobile, and replacing the troops 
drawn from General Beauregard's 
department by one of these divi- 
sions ; placing the other at Atlanta, to 
reenforce Charleston, Savannah, Mo- 
bile, or Dalton. This last position 
would only be necessary as a tempo- 
rary precaution, as the enemy will be 
entirely occupied by the move into 
Kentucky, as soon as he begins to 
feel us in his rear. We should thus 
leave our own positions as securely 
covered as they now are, and at the 
same time have an opportunity to 
strike a vital blow at the enemy's. 
The move can be made sooner than 
any other, promises greater results, 
and is less complicated. It secures 
to us the means of getting provisions 

for our troops, and if entirely suc- 
cessful will end the war. The objec- 
tion to- it is, that there may be some 
diflSculty in uniting the two armies 
under Generals Johnston and Beau- 
regard ; but it is more probable that 
they would be able to unite, when 
the enemy is in motion and occupied 
in looking after his line of communi- 
cation, than the armies in Georgia and 
East-Tennessee would be with the 
enemy lying at his ease and watching 

It would not be necessary for Gen- 
eral Johnston to pursue the enemy 
with his entire army. 

He could put the cavalry under 
Generals S. D. Lee, Forrest, Roddy, 
and Wheeler, upon the enemy's rear, 
and thus damage him so seriously 
that he would hardly be able to give 
us battle in Kentucky immediately 
after his arrival there. 

If he should fall upon General 
Beauregard, we could relieve him 
without danger of great damage, and 
afterward join General Johnston. 

My troops can start upon this or 
any other campaign in three days' 
notice. General Beauregard could 
not prepare for it sooner than the 1st 
April. If we can put our troops in 
motion by that time, we shall be able 
to take the initiative, as the enemy 
will not be ready to move before the 
1st of May. He may and probably 
will, make a diversion in Virginia be- 
fore that time, for the purpose of 
drawing my troops from the West, 
and thus prevent such a campaign. 

He seems already in some concern 
about our position and movements. 
These ideas are advanced under the 
supposition that they will be executed 
with that determination and vigor 
which must insure success. In or- 
der that there may be as little delay 
as possible, I have expressed them 
somewhat hurriedly, and I may have 
failed to explain them as M^ell as I 
would like, and the suggestions may 
not go sufficiently into details. 

I remain, sir, with great respect, 
Your most obedient servant, 
James Longstreet, 


The Study of Words. 



Hugh Miller says that when he 
was working on the shore of Moray- 
Frith in Scotland, as a mason, he 
picked up a nodular mass of blue 
limestone, and laid it open by a 
stroke of the hammer. Wonderful 
to relate, it contained inside a beauti- 
fully finished piece of sculpture — one 
of the volutes apparently of an Ionic 
capital ; and the far-famed walnut of 
the fairy tale, had he broken the 
shell and found the little dog lying 
within, could not have surprised him 
more. Was there another such a 
curiosity in the whole world ? He 
broke open a few other nodules of 
similar appearance — for they lay 
pretty thickly on the shore — and 
found there might be. The writer 
of this a few years ago had lying 
about the house a small piece of 
rock, of no apparent value or beauty, 
and its source not known ; it was 
covered with a coating of quartz 
with minute crystals over it. But 
accidentally knocking off a corner of it 
one day, he discovered another min- 
eral within, totally different, and 
perfectly crystaUized in its own pe- 
culiar shape. We sometimes find an 
old coin covered and corroded with 
rust, but upon beating, rubbing or 
heating it the " image and super- 
scription," as well as the legend, 
appear. • . 

So with familiar words, the cur- 
rent coin of social life: the "faded 
metaphors" of language. We must 
hammer them, or beat them, or 
scrutinize them, or conjure with them, 
to bring to light that hidden meaning 
that may have hitherto eluded us. 
Thel-e is a world of wonderful curi- 
osities in the heavens ; in the air ; in 
the earth ; in our bodily frames ; in 
our spiritual natures ; and in our 
mouths. Man is the mouth-piece of 
the whole creation. Other animals 
may vocalize, but he is " the divider 
of the voice." His " winged words" 
reecho all voices, above, below, and 
around him ; and he not only paints 

sounds to the ear, when he makes 
the sea roar, the thunders roll, the 
winds whisper in the pines, the cricket 
{crealcet) chirp, but when he limns 
ideas to the eye in letters, in (Lit- 
tera, from lino, Latin, to paint) 
the zig-zag lightning, in the Z-bow, 
and in many other pictorial represen- 
tations, as all writing probably was 
at first ; and then at pleasure he 
obliterates and blots them out again, 
that is, he unpaints them again. But 
it is not our purpose now to dwell 
upon this most curious quality both 
of written and spoken language, and 
which pervades it more extensively 
than most, even of educated men, 
have any idea of. We defer that 
till another time. 

One of the primary ideas every- 
where, in all languages, of course 
must he that oiieing, living, existing, 
in the highest style on earth, and its 
perpetuation, by the connection of one 
generation with another. Now the 
more ancient and original any lan- 
guage is, the more it partakes of that 
descriptive and imitative character 
we have just spoken of 

The Hebrew has it in a high de- 
gree : and the verb to be, live, etc., 
in that language, seems to be an im- 
itation of the act and the sound of 
inspiring and expiring breath : we 
can represent it nearly by the letters, 
HVH, or with the vowels Havah : we 
find the same thing in Greek 
Bioo ; but as B, as in modern 
Greek, was probably aspirated, and 
a sound called the digamma, like our 
F or V, came between the first two 
vowels, (the last is a mere ending,) we 
have almost the same sound as be- 
fore, ViV-o, which brings us to the 
Latin viv-o, from which we have re- 
vive, and so many other words, re- 
lated in meaning. Now as soon as 
Adam saw his future wife, he named 
her from her relation to himself as 
his counterpart, ish-a ; giving the 
feminine termination which is com- 
mon to so many languages to the 


The Study of Words. 


word that described himself, isTi ; he 
was ish, his companion (not Eve yet) 
was ish-a ; the same as in Latin, vir, 
vira; and imitated in EngMsh, not 
in the way M^e form the term by a 
j^re/ia;, Fee or Wo male, female : man, 
woman ; but by changing the end., 
and saying, man, man-a. But how, 
and when did the Ish's Isha become 
Eve ; and why did God's vicegerent 
and the Lord of this lower world 
change the name of his associate and 
companion ? It was in reference to 
matrimony, (mater-mony, mother- 
hood) mater-nity. He called the 
name of his isha (woman) Havah be- 
cause (s)Ae havetha (was) am (or our 
ma-ma) of all hav., (living.) This im- 
itates the sentence very nearly, and 
shows that her name Eve., the verb ^cas, 
and the noun living^ being, are all 
connected in their root : and mother 
is our ma, repeated ma-ma, and the 
first syllable in mater. It is also 
in all probability the Latin verb, 
am-o ; as we presume there is no 
affection on earth stronger than that 
of a mother to her child; and it 
seems to be so regarded in the Bible, 
Isa. 49 : 15, where the question is 
asked as if to be confidently an- 
swered in the negative, "Can a wo- 
man (mother) forget her sucking 
child ?" etc. Though Isaac Taylor 
thinks the conjugal affection the 

This title, more specific than 
isha, primarily, no doubt, was given 
to Eve (rendered by Septuagint in 
Greek Zoe, life) from the fact that 
she had the germs, and was to be the 
mother, of all generations of men ; 
literally, " ^Ae mother of us alV 
But no doubt there was in her case 
a further reference to that exalted, 
mysterious, remote descendant of 
hers, who was to bruise the head of 
the serpent, lead captivity captive, 
so often called THE LIFE ; the great 
and only source of life to man ; the 
Jehovah of the Old Testament, a 
name connected with the same verb 
to ie ; and yet descending in a line of 
first-born ones, from the great first 
mother. Eve, Havah, of which word. 
Eve, Eva, is only a different pro- 

nunciation. To what then does all 
this tend, does some one ask ? We 
reply by asking, what is the idea, 
and the origin of the word, wife ? 
One great linguist derives it from 
weave, the weaver in the family ! But 
we think we have sufficiently indicated 
its origin and antiquity. It has no 
such blazonry about it as the loom. 
Eve is the predecessor of all wives, 
and all other women are her daugh- 
ters. The word comes straight along 
down through a variety of languages 
in nearly the same form. Ours is the 
Anglo-Saxon ; Dutch, wyf ; German, 
weib ; Frisian, more nearly like the 
English than any language in Europe, 
wif; Danish, vif; and Icelandic, 
which preserves old Norse forms, 
the same ; Low German, wief ; old 
High German, wib ; Middle High 
German, wip, etc. 

Webster, at the word Eve, quoting 
from Adair, says that in the Chicka- 
saw language a wife is called awah ; 
we see the idea indicated in the use 
of the word matrimony, for the 
married state. We see the idea in 
the horrible proposition of Lot's 
daughters. Gen. 19 ': 32-34, where 
'■'■preserve " is from the same root, 
and in a causative sense, to give life, 
to quicken; and in the "quickening" 
of more modern times. 

And this word "quick" may 
have a relationship to viv-a in form 
as well as sense : vig-or, wake, wick, 
(in candle-wick,) and quick, seem . 
allied ; we speak of a live coal, and 
Horace, the Latin poet, has vivse and 
vigilss lucernse, that is, living and 
vigilant, quick and wakeful lamps. 

But there are other gems of 
thought ; and words that do not give 
out their meaning, as musical instru- 
ments, do not discourse sweet music 
till it is brought out of them. Some 
one says that there is no instance in 
the Bible of medicine taken inter- 
nally. Though Prov. 31 : 6 would 
be an exception : " Give strong drink 
to him that is ready to perish." The 
ancients, as we see both in the Bible 
and in Homer, depended very much 
upon external applications in healing 
wounds and diseases. Olive oil was 


The Study of Words. 


often employed, as we see in Jas, 

5 : 14, "anoint him (the sick) with 
oil in the name of the Lord ;" Mark 

6 : 13, "and anointed with oil many 
that were sick, and healed, them." 

Now, we often read in the Old 
Testament of Baal, Bel, Belus, the 
name of one of the chief deities of 
the Phoenicians, Carthaginians, etc., 
representing the sun, or the planet 
Jupiter. We see his high position 
in their mythology from the fact that 
his name is incorporated into so many 
other names, as that of the true God 
was among the Jews ; Beelzehvib, 
HanniJaZ, HasdruSa^, and perhaps 
Sardana-j9aZ-us, etc. It means God, 
King, Lord, Master, etc. Some per- 
sons may he surprised to find that 
we have this Baal in common use. 
But the Hebrew word for oil is 
shemen, included in that hallowed 
word, Gethsemane, oil-press ; and 
if we combine the two, we lia.\eBaal- 
shemen, king-oil, lord-oil, sovereign 
remedy, panacea. We have the word 
contracted first in Greek, balsamum, 
the same in Latin, and balsam in 
English ; and this is not an oil but 
a kind of liquid gum, of the consis- 
tency of oil, and applied medicinally 
in the same way, often, as their oil. 
Hence the inquiry. Is there no balm in 
Gilead : is there no physician there ? 
in which the word is so far contract- 
ed that just as we employ it for a 
garden herb, it has lost one a from 
the first part, and all of the last, but 
the last letter. Thus we see the high 
genealogy of Balsam, and Balm ; and 
it was also costly, for it was sold for 
double its weight in silver. In Gen. 
37 : 25, we see that it was an early 
article of traffic, for the Ishmaelites 
were carrying it to Egypt, with 
spicery and myrrh, more than sev- 
teen hundred years before Christ. 

We have all been familiar with that 
little rodent animal that injures our 
corn crop so much in autumn — the 
squirrel. But we presume that 
many, both of the boys and young 
men, and old men too, who are 
accustomed to kill them, and who 
have before their eyes, often, that 
peculiarity of the animal from which 

it takes its name, can not tell what 
that name means ; or if called upon 
to give it a distinctive appellation, 
could not form one so descriptive. 
"It is derived from the circumstance 
of the tail serving as it were, to 
shade the body." In the Greek, we 
have skia-oura ; this in Latin be- 
comes sciurus ; then give it a diminu- 
tive termination, sciurulus; then 
bring it through the French, and we 
have squirrel, an animal that makes 
an umbrella of its tail — shadow-tail ! 

" The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play, 
Ascends a neighboring beech : there wliisks 

his brush. 
And perks his ears, and stamps and cries 

We have pul-lets, foals, and fillies 
about our farm-yards ; and in sum- 
mer the stagnant pools swarm with 
vermin called tad-poles, and pol- 
lywiggles. But how are these con- 
nected? Pol-os in Greek, and pul- 
lus in Latin, is the young of an 
animal, a foal, filly, etc. A tad- 
pole then is a toad-foal. And as so 
generally, when we add a word or 
syllable to another, we contract the 
former, and sometimes both, so here, 
toad is tad : and foal is filly, as from 
ingenium, we have engine, then gin, 
in cotton-gin. When we are an- 
noyed by fowls, and wish to drive 
them away, we say, "Shoo! Shoo!" 
and this is the most ancient way of 
doing it, for if we look at the original 
of Gen. 15 : 11, we shall find that 
Abraham used the same word when 
he drove the fowls away from his 
sacrifice. One commentator says, 
" he puffed them away ;" that is, " by 
swelling his cheeks with his breath 
and blowing at them." Another 
says, "he huffed them away." But 
the form and sound of the word shoo, 
almost exactly imitates the original. 

We are told that " the proper 
study of mankind is man." He 
plays an important part in the world 
from the earliest times. Accoi'ding 
to Tacitus, MannviS was the founder 
of the Ger-manrace. Man-n, the 
son of Brama, gave the most cele- 
brated code of civil and religious law 


Tlie Study of Words, 


to the Hindoos ; and in some form, 
not very different, from the days 
when the Sanscrit language flour- 
ished in that country, through Asia 
and Europe, over into America, he 
has been a great thinker, and dealer 
in men-tal science ; the verb-root in 
Sanscrit is 7nan, to think, man-a.s, 
mind, manushja,, a son of man, to 
which mens in Latin, mind, is evi-. 
dently related. In Europe they have, 
without specifying mann, monn, ma- 
nur, mand, manna, etc. 

He plays an extensive part in Eng- 
lish, and in a variety of combinations. 
Man, Wo-man, Men, Wo-men, cor- 
responding to ho-men, foe-mina in 
Latin, q. d. he-man, she-man. Then 
we have the little mMn, or dwarf, 
man-nikm ; and in Latin, ho-mun- 
culus, ho-mun-cio ; and little woman 
femella, or fe-mm-ella, our female, 
which word, though the counterpart 
of male, (from, maris,) is not dei'ived 
from it. We have hu-man and inhu- 
man, hu-mane and inhn-mane men 
and women. We have mankind in- 
cluding womankind, and man-kindi, 
(1 Cor. 6:9; Lev. 18 : 22 ; 1 Tim. 1 : 
10), ea;-cluding womankind. Kind 
men and kind women are not of 
course kinsmen and kinswomen, and 
these latter are not of course kind 
men and women. We see man- 
children, male children, boy babies, 
girl babies, and female children, but 
we do not think that any one sees 
tcoman children. The Bible shows us 
men-servants and women-servants. 

Man is both general and specific ; 
" man is the only erect animal," that 
is, mankind; but "man and wife;'' 
the Latin would say, '■'■homo, show 
thyself a «*?'," while the English 
must say, '■'■man, show thyself a 
many If the different sexes are 
combined in the same individual, we 
have a man-wo-man. If the qua- 
lities of the sexes are interchanged, 
we have have a feminine or woman- 
ized man, who, though not man-like, 
is better than an effeminate man. 
And sometimes we see a masculine 
woman, , (a heroine, virago, Amazon,) 
who is not very feminine or lovely. 
A man-of-war is not a war-man, nor 

a man at all, but a ship ; and to 
man that ship is not the antithesis of 
un-man a man. 

Our word hemp, the name of an 
article so important in naval affairs, 
and for hangmen, is also needful in 
canvassing many subjects. Hemp is 
cannabis ; by changing b into v, as 
we make tavern, from Latin taberna, 
so we have canvass for cannabis. 
Our canvass whitens the sea ; but 
when we have a discussion of any 
subject, we shaTce it apart, as the 
word discussion means ; and when 
we canvass it, we are dressing hemp, 
or beating and swingling it to separ- 
ate the fibre from the broken pieces 
of the stalk, answering to the shives 
in flax. 

A library consists of rolls of bark 
from trees, or of the thin layers and 
coats of the papyrus plant of Egypt ; 
or of parchment, of dressed skins 
from Pergamos, in Asia Minor ; or of 
blocks of heech wood, upon which 
the northern nations of Europe wrote, 
and thus made books; and as the 
fruit of the beech tree is triangular 
in shape, the book in the library is 
related to the buckwheat (beechwheat) 
cakes we have on the breakfast-table, 
for the shape of the grain buckwheat 
is the same as the fruit of the beech 
tree. A book is then a leech, and 
buckwheat is leech-yihe&i, that is, 
wheat of a triangular shape. 

Our words sow and swine, gener- 
ally, seem to have come from mount 
Ararat, or from Babel after the dis- 
persion through the south of Europe. 
Our pork too came from Italy. But 
hog came from Wales ; and the prop- 
er original word chulc, which is the 
one in wood-chuk, came from Persia, 
apparently above the Black Sea. It 
probably was intended to imitate the 
grunt of the animal; and Webster 
infers that our ancestors came from 
Persia, from the fact that this word, 
native there, is the one in common 
use here for calling swine. And in 
general, probably, it is true that an 
animal is the native of the country 


The Study of Words. 


where its name is native to the lan- 
guage of the country. 

Just as the Latin word rfs, athing, 
(from which we have rcal=true,) is 
connected with re-or, to think, so 
our word thing is any thing thought 
about. Really, a thing is a thinJc. 
The word thanh is, by the vowel 
change, from the same root. Our 
Anglo-Saxon ancestors called their 
Congress Witenaffemote, the meeting 
of the wise men, or, as they met not 
to palaver and wrangle, that body 
was the Mycelgetheath — the Great 
Thought. The same assemblage is, 
we believe, to this day, in one of the 
northern nations of Europe, the All 
Thing=All Think. It meets to take 
council to thinle^ and not to pour out 
iDords which have no thoughts in 

We often hear of a disease called 
the "big head," and John Bull has 
it, perhaps, as much as any one. 
Milton somewhere compares a storm 
of wind in the atmosphere of the 
world to the act of sneezing in man's 
lesser universe. We know that cer- 
tain points, capes, and promontories, 
projecting into the sea, are peculiar- 
ly liable to storms, and dangerous to 
navigation ; and hence " the cape of 
storms." Cape Look-Out, on our 
coast, that is, cape, from Latin caput., 
head, "head of storms," "head 
look-out," etc. A point on the west 
coast of Epirus, passed on the way 
from Brundusium to Greece, was 
called Akrokeraunos, that is, the Point 
of Thunder, or of roaring. 

Now, if we look around the coast 
of Great Britain, we shall find, look- 
ing out upon the ocean, all kinds of 
heads of various colors, and what is 
more strange, though there are a 
gi-eat many mouths, the heads and 
mouths are not together ; and we do 
not notice more than one tongue 
among them all, and that in an out 
of the way place in the extreme 
north, where we might suppose it 
would be frozen up a large part of 
the year — a thing which might be 
well for some loquacious persons. 

In one case, too, we find a Knock- 
head ; and more surprising than 
that, an Eye-Mouth, which no one 
ever heard of before ; though we have 
heard of men carrying their heads 
under their arms. 

Another alarming fact is, that if 
we launch forth from Portsmouth on 
the south, and sail east, and then 
north around the coast of England 
to Johnny Groat's House, we shall 
need to keep a sharp look-out ; for 
we shall not only have a great many 
mouths open before us, and some 
eyes looking at us, though not al- 
ways in the heads, (the heads are 
like those of the fish in the Mammoth 
Cave, they never had any eyes,) but 
if all the big noses we pass, begin- 
ning with the most dangerous one of 
all, Dungeness, that is, Danger-nose — 
if they all should begin to sneeze at the 
same time, when we sail around, as 
the fleet of Agricola did, the first 
time England was circumnavigated, 
what a storm there would be, ac- 
cording to Milton's idea ! But if, 
when we set sail from Portsmouth, 
instead of sailing east around the 
corner., Kent, (cantium is corner,) we 
turn to the west, we shall fall upon 
the horn at the other corner — Corn- 
wall is Cornu-Galliae, Horn of Gaul. 
We infer that John Bull worships 
the rising more than the setting sun : 
though he boasts that he has no end 
to his day, but that just as Tacitus 
describes the course of the luminary 
in his day, in the first century after 
Christ, the sun does not set, but 
passes round. But why do we 
think this ? Because he not only 
has so many heads, and mouths, and 
eyes, on that side, but all his noses 
point in that direction. We have al- 
ready mentioned Dunge??css on the 
south, which is Dangernose, and as 
we go north, we find Sheer»ess, 
Sheer-wo5e, Shoebury-??eA\'?, Foul-ness, 
Oxford-wess; and they thicken as we 
some to the coast of Scotland, where 
we can find any number of them, 
and among others a Scar-Tiose, and 
A^css-head. Whether any of these 
are Roman noses, (that is, came from 
Latin nasus, and the Roman occu- 


The Study of Words. 


pancy of the island four hundred 
years,) we can not tell : for the words, 
like the people, are all of the same 
family ; and like real noses, they, as 
we may suppose, have a general re- 
semblance, and yet vary in some re- 
spect. The Anglo-Saxon has a nose 
like that of St. Anthony on the Hud- 
son river ; and it has nosu, nasu, 
nase, nase; the old Frisian, nearest 
to the English, has nose ; the Dutch, 
neus ; the Icelandic, nos ; the Swed- 
ish, nasa ; the Danish, nase ; the 
old High German, nasa; the new 
High German, nase; the Sanscrit, 
nasa ; the Slavonic, nos ; the Italian, 
naso ; the Proven9al, nas, naz ; the 
French, nez.* A variety of these 
forms are found on the east coast of 
England, and this makes it so diffi- 
cult to account for them, as they are 
all on that side; and except a few 
in Denm9,rk and in Norway, and in 
the Orkneys and Iceland, scarcely 
found anywhere else in the world. 
And as By is the Danish for town, 
Naseby, of noted memory for a deci- 
sive battle fought there in 1645, 
would be Nose-town. There is an- 
other town of the, same name on the 
island of Oland belonging to Sweden. 
Hence Whitby, the name of a town 
on the east coast of England, and 
also of a commentator on the Holy 
Scriptures, means white town ; and 
our Jye-law, iown-\?iw. In Denmark 
is Oxby, Oxtown, and on the coast 
of Norway is Oxnas, Oxnose. On 
the east coast of England is " The 
Nose," and also " The Nase." The 
Nase at the south point of Norway 
is also called Lind-ness, or Lime- 
nose. The Scotch have a Noss- 
Head, and a Broom-nose, (ness ;) 
and as the nose is Scotch, we sup- 
pose the 'broom is Scotch too. This 
is on the extreme north ; we read of 
a Dutch admiral putting a broom at 
the mast-head of his ship, to sweep 
the Enghsh fleet from the channel, 
so the Scotch with their Broom, will 
sweep away the ice from the frozen 
ocean. But it is not the English, 
Scotch; and Irish alone that abound 

in Heads, if the Noses are peculiar to 
them, and to one side of the Island. 
For if we turn to another part of 
the world, and a different climate, 
we shall find about two score of 
Heads ■ fanned by the breezes of 
Araby the Blest, and those that blow 
soft over Ceylon's Isle. And these, 
heads are related to perhaps the old- 
est language, and the head of the 
oldest book in the world. If we take 
a good atlas, and commence near the 
mouth of the Indus, and come west, 
around the Persian Gulf, the Penin- 
sula of Arabia, and the Red Sea, and 
a certain distance down the coast of 
Africa, we shall find, at a great many, 
points, and as far as the influence of 
the Arabic tongue goes — Ras-Ras- 
Ras, etc., till we are tired of the repe- 
tition, as much as in seeing Head so 
often on the coast of England and 
Ireland. Now if we turn to the Jij'st 
word, at the last end of the Hebrew 
Bible, (which reads all the way back- 
ward) we find, " In the Beginning," 
Be-Rash-ith, of which Be is the pre- 
position, in, and ith is a mere termi- 
nation, as in English weal-th, tru-th, 
mou-th, etc. These being removed, 
we have the primitive radical, Rash, 
in the Hebrew = Head ; " at the head ; " 
" in the beginning." So Ex. 12 : 2, 
" the beginning of months," is the 
same word, (root,) "the head of 
months," and in Pruv. 8 : 22, ".The 
Lord (Jehovah) possessed me in (no, 
prep, in original) the beginning of his 
way before his works of old;" here 
is the same word as in Gen. 1:1, 
Rashith, and there seems to be an 
allusion by Solomon to the words of 
Moses. Now the Arabic is nearly 
related to the Hebrew, of the same 
family, and "now covers with its 
mantle of oriental beauty a large 
part of "Western Asia and Northern 
Afi-ica." So strange is it that a Ras, 
should be connected with the Head 
of the whole creation. But there is 
no end to wonders in language, and 
stranger than any thing we have yet 
advanced is this, that, as with nose, 
we have ness, and naz, and nase, 

* This list is from the last edition of Webster's Dictionary. 

YOL. I. — NO. III. 18 


The Study of Words. 


sometimes near neighbors, and some- other continent, where the waves of 
times M'ide apart, as in Scotland and emigration have met the waves of 
in Oland ; so here, in Arabia and the Atlantic, especially on its most 
Africa we have Ras, but the same remote projections, as Spain, Brit- 
word is apparently a near neighbor tany, etc. 

of the heads, and mouths, and And as in geology there are pri- 
noses in Scotland itself, and if so, it mary, secondary, tertiary, and other 
will be one of the great problems in formations of rock on the surface of 
language to discover how a Hebrew the earth, in successive layers over 
and Arabic root got transplanted each other ; so it may be literally in 
into the mountains of Scotland from language. Some geographical names 
the plains of Palestine or the burn- of rivers, mountains, headlands, 
ing sands of Arabia : for what is hills, cities, etc., never die. Damas- 
Ross, in Kinross ; Rox, in Roxboro ; cus is the same now as in the days 
Rose in Melrose, Montrose, and in of Abraham, two thousand years be- 
many other words of the same form, fore Christ. 

but the same radical syllable ? This Suppose then an invading and 
has the same meaning as Ras in the conquering race, come into a coun- 
Arabic language ; Kinross is head of try, as the Romans, Saxons, Danes, 
the promontory : ^ is sometimes pro- Normans, etc., in England, as we 
nounced like a in Albany, Raleigh, have taken possession in this coun- 
in the latter of which it is often try. This new race with a new Ian- 
sounded like short o, Roleigh. And guage, find names of all these great 
Rosh is exactly the word for head natural objects, in the language of 
in Ps. 118 : 22, " the head of the their predecessors ; but neglecting 
corner." While the Celtic nations the meaning of the words, or not 
have an eastern origin, as shown by understanding it, they add a corre- 
Prichard, and "led the van of occi- sponding word of their own, of the 
dental emigration through the wild- same meaning ; and a third race do 
erness of primeval Europe," coming the same, retaining the two preced- 
undoubtedly above the Caspian and ing as a compound term and adding 
Black Seas ; some think not only the same, from their own tongue, 
that the Celtic language is connected Suppose, for instance, when the 
with the Indo-European, but also Romans under Agricola invaded 
with the Semitic languages. And Scotland they found a cape, head- 
the author of the Universal History land, etc., named by the natives 
says": " The Celtic is a dialect of the Ross, that is, in their tongue, not 
Hebrew." As the language of the understood by the Romans, (just as 
old Canaanites conquered by Joshua the meaning of many of the Indian 
was similar to the Hebrew ; and names^ here are unknown to us,) 
the Carthaginians had the same as meaning head^ promontory, moun- 
thc Canaanites ; and they extended tain. Now the Romans call it Mont- 
their language into Spain, and by Rose ; then we have mount-mount 
trading or by colonizing also into literally ; just as some people call 
Ireland and Scotland. It is said a ford on the Cataba river by the 
there are Druidical remains in Mo- name of Oxford, Oxford-ford, forget- 
rocco, which show traces of Highland ting that ford is already there, 
clans "in their migrations. There Now suppose again, the Normans 
was then a stream of emigration on had come in, or the Saxons before 
the south, as well as on the north of them, and had put cape to this al- 
the Mediterranean sea, toward Eng- ready compound, tautological term, 
land and Scotland in the earliest and we would have Cape-Mont-Rose ; 
limes, from the east. It is thought and as cape is from Latin caput, head, 
there have been several successive we would have mount-mount-mount; 
sets of population on this continent; or head-head-head. We do not say 
and also on the west coast of the that this is the actual fact, but we 

186G.] Wounding of Lieutenant- General T. J. Jackson. 


are illustrating the way in which this 
might take place very naturally ; and 
in which it often does. 

A people has died out ; their lan- 
guage has died out as that of Corn- 
wall has done lately^— a few names 
of places, mountains, rivers, alone 
survive , as their monuments; and 
those names not understood by their 
successors, but repeated as Hum- 
boldt tells us the old parrot in South- 
America did the language of an ex- 
tinct tribe of which he was the rep- 
resentative, the Atures : 

' As they lived, free, dauntless ever. 

So the brave Aturians died, 

And the green bank of the river 

All their mortal relics hide. 

' Yet the parrot, ne'er forgetting 

Those who loved him, mourns them still, 

On the stone his sharp beak whetting. 
While the air his wailings fill." 

But what we have supposed above, 
is the undoubted fact in some cases ; 
Garnet in his Philological Essays 
shows this in regard to Lang-Stroth- 
er, in which Strother meant origin- 
ally the same as after the addition of 
Lang. Mountbenjerlaw, and Brind- 
on Hill include the word Mount, 
Hill, tliree times; one is Welsh, an- 
other is Saxon, and the third Eng- 
lish. Dunnet Head is probably cf 
the same class, and many of the 
names of mountains in Europe, as 
the Cevennes, Erzgebirge, etc. It 
is probable that we are doing the 
same thing every daj'' ; when we say 
rqMn red-breast, we forget that we 
have the word red already in ro&, 
from the Latin rubeo, to be red. 


There have been numerous and 
conflicting accounts of the wounding 
of this great leader; many written 
by persons who were miles away 
from the scene of the ever to be 
lamented occurrence, and of course 
who possessed little accurate inform- 
ation of the affair ; while others 
have been written by eye-witnesses, 
and ha,ve been accurate, so far as 
each individual had an opportunity 
of beholding what occurred. It is a 
duty of those who were eye-wit- 
nesses of the affair to furnish history 
an account of what they saw and 
know to be true. 

The person from whom this narra- 
tive is taken was a participant in the 
battle, and was near the person of 
the General at the time he received the 
fatal wounds, and assisted in bearing 
him from the field. Early on the 
morning of April 29th, 1863, Gen- 
eral Jackson was informed by Major 
Hale, of General Early's staff, that 
the enemy was crossing the Rappa- 
hannock in force at Deep Run, two 
miles below Fredericksburgh, by the 
use of pontoon-bridges, and that a 

considerable force had already suc- 
ceeded in effecting a landing on the 
southern bank of the river. Gen- 
eral Jackson immediately dispatched 
orders to his division commanders 
to get their troops under arms, and, 
accompanied by his staff and escort, 
rode to the vicinity of Deep Run, to 
reconnoitre the position of the en- 
emy. It was evident, from the move- 
ments and displays the enemy made, 
that they were in heavy force, and 
wished to create the impression that 
the main crossing and attack would 
be made below Fredericksburgh, and 
preparations were soon made to meet 
them. During the day, however, a 
dispatch, was received from General 
Lee stating that General J. E. B. 
Stuart, who was on the left wing of 
the army, reported the enemy to be 
crossing rapidly at United States 
Ford, fifteen miles above Fredericks- 
burgh, and moving in heavy force to 
Chancellorsville. It was now appar- 
ent that their crossing at Deep Run 
was merely a feint; and leaving Gen 
eral Early to watch and check this 
force under Sedgwick, General Jack- 


Wounding of Lieutenant- General T. J. Jaclson. 


son marched with his three other 
divisions in the direction of Chan- 
cellorsville, where he found two 
divisions of Longstreet's corps, ^un- 
der General R. H. Anderson, con- 
fronting the enemy ; uniting with 
this force, he continued to press for- 
ward, driving the enemy until he 
reached the Catherine Furnace road, 
which intersects the Fredericksburgh 
and Orange C. H. road, one mile 
east of Chancellorsville. It could 
now be seen that the two armies 
confronted each other, and that the 
Federal army had been in position 
a sufficient length of time to take 
every advantage of its naturally 
strong position, and had thrown 
up heavy intrenchments, protected 
along its entire front by an abattis 
of felled timber and innumerable bat- 
teries of artillery. So strong and 
well fortified was this position that 
the Federal commander, in a general 
field order to his troops, says: "The 
enemy must either ingloriously fly 
or come out from behind his de- 
fenses and give us battle on our own 
ground, where certain destruction 
awaits him." The Confederate 
troops were arrayed in line of 
battle, and an order to storm the 
works was hourly expected. Yet it 
was plain that such an attack, if un- 
successful, would be the utter de- 
struction of our comparatively small 
army. During the afternoon of the 
1st of May, and after the troops had 
rested on their arms several hours, 
expecting an advance, General Jack- 
son, accompanied by an aid-de- 
camp, rode beyond the left of his 
command, and near the Catherine 
Furnace met General J. E. B. Stuart, 
aiid after conversing a few moments 
they rode still further to the left, to 
a knoll, where two pieces of Pelham's 
Horse Artillery were engaging the 
enemy, in order that they might get 
a view of the enemy's lines. General 
Jackson here inquired particularly 
about the roads beyond this point 
and in the vicinity of the enemy's 
right flank, and being apparently 
satisfied with what information he 
received, was returning to his com- 

mand, when a shell exploded near 
the party, mortally wounding Cap- 
tain Price, General Stuart's Assistant 
Adjutant General, which sad event 
detained him a short time. After 
this detention he rode at a gallop to 
the centre of the army, where a con- 
versation was held between Generals 
Lee, Jackson, and A. P. Hill, in re- 
gard to the best point of attack, and 
it was decided that at early dawn 
Jackson's corps would move to the 
left via Catherine Furnace and the 
Brock road to the enemy's extreme 
right and attack his right flank. 
This movement was successfully 
made, and four o'clock p.m. on the 
2d found Jackson in position on the 
old stone pike leading from Chancel- 
lorsville west toward Orange C. H. 
He had marched around the entire 
front of the Federal army, and his 
lines were now fronting in an oppo- 
site direction to their formation of 
the day previous. His corps was 
formed in three parallel lines ex- 
tending over half a mile to the right 
and left of the pike. The first con- 
sisted of the division of General D. 
H. Hill, under General R. E. Rodes; 
second, that of Jackson, under Gen- 
eral R. E. Colston; and third, that 
of General A. P. Hill — in all num- 
bering twenty-seven thousand men. 
As soon as the lines were formed the 
order of advance was given, and never 
did troops move forward with more 
enthusiasm ; they knew that they 
were striking the enemy where he 
least expected it, and rushed forw^ard 
with that peculiar yell characteristic 
of the Southern soldier. Siegel's 
Dutch corps of the Federal army 
was first encountered, and being 
attacked on its right flank, made no 
attempt to change front, but M'as 
hurled like chaff before the winds. 
Several batteries attempted to arrest 
the advance of the Confederates by 
rapid discharges of canister, but the 
lines swept forward without a mo- 
ment's pause, killing or capturing 
the cannoneers, and taking their guns. 
This advance was continued for over 
two miles, through an almost impen- 
etrable wilderness, and over that 


Wounding of Lieutenant- General T. J. Jackson. 


whole extent the ground was strewn front, in search of the General, and 
with Federal dead and wounded, found him lying upon. the ground, 
guns, knapsacks, canteens, etc. with Captain Wilburne and Mr. 
Darkness of the night now made Wynn of the Signal CorpSj bending 
the advance slow and hazardous, over him, examining his wounds. In 
The lines were halted and reformed, a few moments General Hill, accom- 
and the. division of General A. P. panied by Captain Leigh and a few 
Hill advanced to the front. The Fed- couriers, rode up to where the Gen- 
eral lines were also reforming, or eral was lying, and dismounted. On 
rather bringing fresh troops to the examining his wounds, they found 
front. It was now near 9 o'clock, his left arm broken, near the shoul- 
and General Jackson, who had been der, and bleeding profusely. A 
for some time near the front line, handkerchief was tied around the 
rode a little in advance of it to re- arm so as partially to stop the bleed- 
connoitre the enemy's position. A ing. While this was being done, and 
heavy skirmish line had been or- while the party were bending over 
dered to the front, and he supposed the General, two Federal soldiers, 
he was in rear of this line. He was with muskets cocked, stepped up to 
at this time accompanied by Captain the party, from behind a cluster of 
J. K. Boswell, of the Engineers ; bushes, and looked quietly on. Gen- 
Captain R. F. Wilburne, of the Sig- eral Hill turned to several of his 
nal Corps, Lieutenant J. G. Morri- couriers, and said, in an under-tone, 
son, Aidrde-camp, and five or six " Seize those men," and it was done 
couriers — and had ridden but a short so quickly that they made no resist- 
distance down the pike, when a volley ance. Lieutenant Morrison, thinking 
was fired at the party by the Federals that these were scouts in front of an 
in front and to the right of the road, advancing line, stepped to the pike, 
To escape this fire, the party wheeled about twenty yards distant, to see if 
out of the road. to the left, and gal- it were so, and distinctly saw can- 
loped to the rear, when our own men, noneers unlimbering two pieces of ar- 
mistaking them for Federal cavalry tillery in the road, not a hundred 
making a charge, and supposing the yards distant. Returning hastily, he 
firing in front to have been been di- announced this to the party, when 
rected at the skirmish line, opened a General Hill, who was now in com- 
galling fire, killing several men and mand of the army, immediately 
horses, and causing the horses that mounted and rode to the head of Pen- 
were not struck to dash, panic- der's column (which was coming up 
stricken, toward the Federal lines, by- the flank) to throw it into line, 
which were but a very short distance He left Captain Leigh, of his stafiF, 
in front. The General was struck in to assist in removing General Jack- 
three places, and dragged from his son. About this time, Lieutenant J. 
horse by a bough of a tree. Captain P. Smith, Aid-de-camp, who had 
Boswell was killed instantly — Lieu- been sent to deliver an order, rode 

tenant Morrison leaping from his 
horse, that was dashing into the ene- 
my's lines, ran to an interval in our 
line, and exclaimed : " Cease firing ! 
You are firing into our own men." 
A colonel commanding a North-Caro- 
lina regiment in Lane's brigade, 
cried out: "Who gave that oi-der ! 

up and dismounted. Captain Wil- 
burne had gone a few moments pre- 
vious after a litter. The party 
thought it best not to await Wil- 
burne' s return, and suggested that 
they bear the General ofi" in then- 
arms, when he replied: "No; I 
think I can walk." They assisted 

It's a lie ! Pour it into them, boys." him to rise, and supported him as he 

Morrison then ran to the colonel, walked from the woods to the pike, 

told him what he had done, and as- and toward the rear. Soon after 

sisted him to arrest the firing as soon reaching the road, they obtained a 

as possible. He then went to the litter, and placed him oil it, but had 


Wounding of Lieutenant-General T. J. JacTcson. 


not gone over forty yards when the 
battery in the road opened with can- 
ister. The first discharge passed 
over their heads, but the second was 
more accurate, and struck down one 
of the htter-bearers, by which the 
General received a severe fall. The 
firing now increased in rapidity, and 
was so terrific that the road was soon 
deserted by the attendants of the 
General, with the exception of Cap- 
tain Leigh and Lieutenants Smith 
and Morrison. These officers lay 
down in the road by the General 
during the firing, and could see on 
every side sparks flashing from the 
stones of the pike, caused by the 
iron canister shot. Once the General 
attempted to rise, but Lieutenant 
Smith threw his arms across his 
body, and urged him to lie quiet a 
few moments or he would certainly 
be killed. After the road had been 
swept by this battery — by a dozen or 
more discharges — they elevated their 
guns, and opened with shell. So the 
little party now had an opportunity 
of removing their precious burden 
from the road to the woods on their 
right, and continued their course to 
the rear, carrying the General most 
of the way in their arms. Once they 
stopped, that he might rest, but the 
fire was so heavy, they thought it 
best to go on. The whole atmos- 
phere seemed filled with whistling 
canister and shrieking shell, tearing 
the trees on every side. After going 
three or four hundred yards an am- 
bulance was reached, containing Colo- 
nel S. Crutchfield, General Jackson's 
Chief of Artillery, who had just been 
severely wounded — a canister shot 
breaking his left leg. The General 
was placed in this ambulance, and, 
at his request, one of his aids got 
in to su-pport his mangled arm. Dur- 
ing all of this time he had scarcely 
uttered a groan, and expressed great 
sympathy for Colonel Crutchfield, 
who was writhing under the agonies 
of his shattered limb. After pro- 
ceeding over half a mile, the ambu- 
lance reached the house of Mr. 
Melgi Chancellor, where a temporary 

hospital had been established. Here 
Dr. Hunter McGuire, Medical Di- 
rector of General Jackson's corps, 
checked the bleeding of the Gene- 
ral's arm, and administered some 
stimulants. He was then taken to a 
Field Infirmary, some two miles to 
the rear, and about two o'clock in 
the night his arm was amputated by 
Dr. McGuire, assisted by Surgeons 
Block, Wells, and Coleman. Before 
administering chloroform. Dr. Mc- 
Guire asked him if, upon examina- 
tion, they found it necessary to am- 
putate the limb, must they do so. 
He replied: "Yes; certainly. Dr. 
McGuire, do for me what you think 
best." About half-past three o'clock, 
Major A. S. Pendleton, A. A. Gene- 
ral, arrived at the hospital, and re- 
quested to see the General. He was 
at first refused by the surgeons, but 
stated that his business was of a very 
important character, and the safety 
of the army depended on it. He 
stated to the General that General 
Hill had been wounded, the troops 
were in great confusion, and General 
Stuart, who had taken command of 
the army, wished to know what must 
be done. General Jackson replied, 
that General Stuart must use his 
own discretion, and do whatever he 
thought best. Accurate accounts by 
Dr. McGuire and others of the last 
hours of General Jackson, have been 
written, and it is unnecessary that 
they be reproduced. On the morn- 
ing of the 3d the General dispatched 
one of his aids to Richmond to es- 
cort Mrs. Jackson to where he lay 
wounded. This officer was cap- 
tured by a raiding party under 
Stoneman, but made his escape, and, 
after some delay, reached Richmond, 
and returned with Mrs. Jackson on 
Thursday, the 7th. The same day the 
General was attacked with pneumo- 
nia, from the effects of which, together 
with his wounds, he died on Sunday, 
the 10th. During his intense suff'er- 
ing he displayed that Christian forti- 
tude, which was always characteris- 
tic of our great chieftain. 


Brigadier- General A. G. Jenkins. 



No coramander in our army was 
more beloved by the troops of his 
command than was General A. G. 
Jenkins, of West-Virginia. Reckless- 
ly brave, he never required his troops 
to go where he would not go himself. 
The hardships, privations, and ex- 
posures he always shared with his 
brigade. In the winter of '62-3, 
with a portion of his brigade, he 
made a raid to the ■ Ohio, traversing 
the destitute and mountainous region 
lying between us and the Great Ka- 
nawha valley. To burden the troops 
as little as possible, and to facilitate 
their movements, a few ears of corn 
were issued to each as our rations 
for six days — the General included. 
The trip was an arduous one, and 
though 'twas in the midst of winter, 
numbers reached the Great Kanawha 
bootless and shoeless. The rough 
and sharp rocks had nearly worn out 
the General's boots, and his feet 
were so blistered that most of the 
upper portions of his boots were re- 
moved to make them endurable. 
One of the command, who had suc- 
ceeded in capturing a horse, so in- 
sisted that the General should ride, 
he finally consented ; but after riding 
a little way, he turned the horse 
over to one of the command, who 
could hardly have been less aisle to 
walk than himself, and uncomplain- 
ingly made the rest of the trip. 
What soldier who beheld that spec- 
tacle would not have followed Gen- 
eral Jenkins? 

In the summer of 1863, in sweeping 
around Winchester, that portion of 
Ewell's corps that pushed on to Mar- 
tinsburgh was preceded by Jenkins's 
brigade. Arriving at Winchester, 
without waiting for the arrival of the 

infantry, he dismounted all of his 
brigade but one company, (Night- 
Hawks.) As the enemy commenced 
retreating, the Night- Hawks were 
ordered to charge through the town 
and capture a battery the enemy 
were attempting to remove ; but by 
some misapprehension, the order was 
countermanded by the A. A. G. 
Jenkins coming up, however, at the 
time, and not knowing the cause ot 
their hesitancy, exclaimed, "Boys, if 

you will not follow Captain , 

follow me ;" and well they did, for 
though from the cross-streets and 
houses a continued volley was pour- 
ed in their ranks, they did not falter. 
In a short time, six pieces of artille- 
ry, with five times their own number 
of prisoners, were captured. About 
three miles below Martinsburgh, when 
the continual detail to guard the cap- 
tured had reduced the number to 
the General and three privates, he 
suddenly came in view of a compa- 
ny of infantry, drawn up in line on 
the right of the road. Putting on 
the boldest front, the General com- 
manded, '■'■Right wheel Xinto line! 

Colonel , hold your men in 

readiness, but don't fire till I give 
command." The dust so obscured 
his little party that their numbers 
could not be detected. Turning to 
the company, he demanded, " Will 
you surrender ? Do you surrender ? 
Throw down your arms, right face, 
forward, march ! " and he actually 
marched the whole company back to 
Martinsburgh. General Jenkins fell 
at Cloyd's farm, with hat in hand, in 
front of his troops, urging his men 
to "charge." His body rests near 
his own home on the Ohio. 


Milton on his Loss of Sight. 



About twenty years ago, there ap- 
peared in our periodical journals, 
a short poem bearing the above title 
and credited to the Oxford edition 
of Milton's Works. It was admired 
by all readers of literary cultivation 
and taste. Its authenticity seems to 
have been questioned by none, ex- 
cept, perhaps, by the few who united 
the research of the antiquary with 
the learning of the scholar. The Ox- 
ford imjjrimatur was to most persons 
a sufficient voucher as to its origin. 
Then, too, the lines bore the Miltonic 
impress both in the sentiments and 
the versification. The stateliness of 
their movement, their rhythmical swell 
and sustained dignity, served to con- 
firm the impression derived from the 
source from which they first issued, 
for these were considered so distinc- 
tively characteristic of Milton's style 
as never to have been successfully 
imitated. The fact that they had re- 
mained two centuries unknown to the 
world, might well suggest the sus- 
picion of mistake or attempted impos- 
ture ; but the doubt, if raised, was 
dispelled by the question, who but 
Milton was capable of writing them ? 
who but he, who spoke as no other 
uninspired man ever did speak, of 
" The throne and equipage of God's 

' In addition to these unmistakable 
marks of his pen, as they were sup- 
posed to be, those famiUar with his 
writings could not fail to observe 
another characteristic equally decisive 
— that consciousness of his own gifts 
and powers, or, to designate it by the 
proper name, that egotism which, 
when bijtrayed even incidentally by 
almost any other avithor, is so apt to 
excite the disgust of the reader, but 
Milton so far from attempting to con- 
ceal, everywhere boldly, and some- 
times obtrusively displayed, with 
no other effect than to enlist our 
. sympathies and heighten our ad- 

Having read the lines until they 

were imprinted on the memory, and 
used them for months as the means 
of regaling our friends, what was 
our surprise to see it stated on good 
authority, as it then seemed and has 
since proved to be, that, the Ox- 
ord Edition notwithstanding, they 
were the product of an American 
pen — of the pen of a lady. Miss 
Elizabeth Lloyd, of Philadelphia, 
whose name until then had been un- 
known to us. Their true source be- 
ing thus ascertained, our first im- 
pulse was to assign to the fair au- 
thor the first place in the rank of 
American poets, certainly the first 
among those of her sex. Happening 
not long afterward to be engaged in 
reading Milton's Second Defense of 
the People of England, our atten- 
tion was arrested by a passage which 
seemed to furnish a solution of the 
mystery connected with the origin 
and history of the little poem. The 
conceptions ai'e Milton's; the versifi- 
cation, and little else, is Miss Lloyd's. 
In saying this, however, we dis- 
claim all purpose of detracting from 
her merits as a poet. It is some- 
thing to her credit that she should 
have been familiar with Milton's 
prose writings. For there are many 
professedly literary men, and still 
more professedly literary women, to 
whom these products of his mighty 
genius are unknown except by 
report, and there are others, avowing 
a high admiration for these writings 
and often using excerpts from them 
to garnish their own discourse, whose 
reading has been confined to the 
comparatively, short and popular 
tractates, such as his celebrated letter 
on Education and his Areopagitica 
or Liberty of Unlicensed Printing. 
It is something still more to her 
credit that she possessed the mind 
and the heart — the one to comprehend 
and the other to appreciate — a pas- 
sage of such intellectual and moral 
grandeur as that which supplied in- 
spiration to her pen. And passing 



Milton on Ms Loss of Sight. 


over other indications of genius and 
skill, it is, finally, greatly to her credit, 
that she succeeded in transfusing the 
thoughts of Milton into verse so 
rhythmically appropriate as to de- 
ceive, however unintentionally on 
her part, his admirers, both in Eng- 
land and America. 

"We propose to republish the poem, 
partly because it is worthy of the 
compliment, and partly because it 
will probably be new to many of the 
readers of our magazine. We pro- 
pose, also, to publish, in connection 
with it, the passage from Milton to 
which reference has been made ; and 
this for several reasons. The cor- 
respondence between the two pieces 
presents a literary incident of curious 
interest. An occasion, we will not 
say excuse, is thus afforded us of 
introducing to our readers, to many 
of whom it may be new, one of the 
most characteristic, sublime, and 
beautiful passages to be found in 
Milton's prose writings. Although 
to an extent equaled by scarcely 
any other author he has incorporated 
himself, so to express it, with the 
productions of his pen, we know not 
where in the same compass he has told 
us so much of his person and habits, 
nor where he has given us an insight 
at once so deep and so clear into his 
feelings, and into the workings of 
that mind which, notwithstanding all 
the results of its gigantic labors lie 
before us, is still enveloped in mys- 
tery more profound than that which 
invests any other great genius, ancient 
or modern. We do not know where 
we shall find in the same space more 
memorable sayings, clothed in nobler 
language — sayings applicable to all 
the adverse conditions and vicissi- 
tudes of life, scarcely less than to 
the appalling calamity, as all but 
Milton would have regarded it, which 
furnished the occasion for them. As 
we contemplate in the light of his 
own truthful words his heroic pur- 
pose to persevere in what he regard- 
ed the path of duty, with this calamity 
threatening him at every forward 
step — his calm, uncomplaining resig- 
nation to the will of Providence after 

the dire evil had actually befallen 
him ; and how that which would have 
overwhelmed and crushed any other 
spirit, only aroused him to enter- 
prises of loftier import, and girded 
him for achievements of more en- 
during worth — we are no longer 
amazed and perplexed by the mys- 
teriousness of the providence, but 
can unite with him in hailing the loss 
of his earthly vision as the special 
manifestation of the divine favor to 
him and to the world. Had Milton 
not lost his Sight, the world would 
not have had the Paradise Lost, 
nor Paradise Kegained, nor Samson 
Agonistes, or, if at all, not as they 
now are, nor so worthy of the 
world's admiration. 

We are aware how unwelcome is a 
long 'grace' when the appetite is 
whetted for the repast, and such, to 
some degree, is that of the reader, 
unless we have failed utterly in the 
design of these prefatory remarks ; 
so we add merely that, in order to 
designate some points of correspond- 
ence between the original and the 
imitation, we have put a few passages 
of the former in italics. 


I am old and blind ! 
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown ; 
Afflicted and deserted by my kind, 

Yet I am not cast down. 

I am weak, yet strong ; 
I murmur not that I no longer see ; 
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, 

Father Supreme, to Thee. 

merciful One ! 

When men are furthest, then thou art most near ; 
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, 
■ Thy chariot I hear. 

Thy glorious face 
Is leaning toward me, and its holy light 
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place — 

And there is no more night. 

On my bended knee, 
I recognize thy purpose, clearly shown : 
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see 

Thyself, thyself alone. 

1 have naught to fear ! 

This darkness is the shadow of thy wing ; 
Beneath it I am almost sacred — here 
Can come no evil thing. 


Milton on Ms Loss of Sight. 


Oh ! I seem to stand 
Tremblin?, where foot of mortal ne'e? hath been 
WrappedTn radiance from thy sinless land, 

Which eye hath never seen. 

Visions come and go ; 
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ; 
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 

Of soft and holy song. 

It is nothing now, 
When heaven is o])enin.^ on my sightless eyes — 
When airs from faradise refresh my brow — 

The earth in darkness lies. 

In a purer clime, 
Thy being fills with rapture — waves of thought 
Roll in upon my spirit — strains sublime 

Break over me unsought. 

Give me now my lyre ! 
I feel the stirrings of a gilt divine. 
Within my bosom glows unearthly Are, 

Lit by no skill of mine. 


Let US now come to the cliarges which 
were brouglit against myself. Is there 
anything repreliensibleiii my manners or 
my conduct? Surely nothing. What no 
one, not totally divested of all generous 
sensibility, would have done, he reproach- 
es me with want of beauty and loss of 
eight : 

" A monster huge and hideous, void of sight." 

I certainly never supposed that I should 
have been obliged to enter into a compe- 
tition for beauty with the Cyclops ; but 
he immediately corrects himself and says, 
"though not indeed huge, for there can 
not be a more spare, shriveled, and blood- 
less form." It is of no moment to say 
any thing of personal appearance, yet lest 
(as the Spanish vulgar, implicitly confid- 
ing in the relations of their priests, be- 
lieve of heretics) any one, from the re- 
presentations of my enemies, should be 
led to imagine that I have either the head 
of a dog, or the horn of a rhinoceros, I 
will say something on the subject, that I 
may have an opportunity of paying my 
grateful acknowledgments to the Deity, 
and of refuting the most shameless lies. I 
do not know that I was ever once noted for 
deformity, by any one who ever saw me ; 
but the praise of beauty I am not anxious 
to obtain. My stature certainly is not 
tall; but it rather approaches the middle 
than the diminutive. Yet what if it were 
diminutive, wiien so many men, illustrious 
both in pence and war, have been the 
came ? And how can that be called di- 
minutive, which is great enough for every 

virtuous achievement ? . . . I wish 
I could with equal facility refute what 
this barbarous opponent has said of my 
blindness ; but I can not do it ; and I 
must submit to the affliction. It is not 
so wrctciied to be blind, as it is not to be 
capable of enduring blindness. But why 
should not I endure a misfortune, which 
it behoves every one to be prepared to 
endure if it sliould happen ; which may, 
in the common course of things, happen 
to any man ; and which has been known 
to happen to the most distinguished and 
virtuous persons in history. [Here fol- 
low the names of various characters an- 
swering to the description just given as 
distinguished and virtuous persons. He 
then proceeds with his own case, thus:] 
And with respect to myself, though I have 
accurately examined my conduct, and 
scrutinized my soul, I call thee, God, 
the searcher of heaits, to witness, that I 
am not conscious, either in the more 
early or in the later periods of my life, of 
having committed any enormity, which 
might have deservedly marked me out 
as a fit subject for such a calamitous visi- 

But since my enemies boast that this 
affliction is only a retribution for the 
transgressions of my pen, I again invoke 
the Almighty to witness, that I never, at 
any time, wrote any thing wliich I did not 
think agreeable to truth, to justice, and to 
piety. This was my persuasion then, and 
I feel the same persuasion now. Nor was 
I ever prompted to such exertions by the 
influence of ambition, by the lust of lu- 
cre or of praise ; it was only by the con- 
viction of duty and the feeling of patriot- 
ism, a di.^interested passion for the ex- 
tension of civil and religious liberty. 

Thus, tlierefore, when I was publicly 
solicited to write a reply to the Defense 
of the royal cause, when I had to con- 
tend with the pressure of sickness, and 
with the apprehension of soon losing the 
sight of my remaining eye, and when my 
medical attendants clearly announced, 
that if I did engage in the work, it would 
be irreparably lost, their premonitions 
caused no hesitation, and inspired no dis- 
may. I would not have listened to the 
voice even of Esculapius himself from the 
shrine of Epidauris, in preference to the 
suggestions of the heavenly monitor 
witliin my breast; my resolution was un- 
shaken, though the alternative was either 
the loss of my sight, or the desertion x>f 
my duty. ... I considered that 
many had purchased a less good by a 


Milton on Ms Loss of Sight. 


greater evil, the meed of glory by theloss 
of life ; but that I might procure great 
good by little suffering ; that though I am 
blind, I might still discharge the most 
honorable duties, the performance of 
which, as it is something more durable 
than glory, ought to be an object of supe- 
perior admiration and esteem : I resolved, 
therefore, to make the short interval of 
sight which was left me to enjoy as benefi- 
cialas possible to the public interest. Thus 
it is clear by what motives I was governed 
in the measures which I took and the loss- 
es which I sustained. Let then the calum- 
niators of the divine goodness cease to re- 
vile, or to make me the object of their 
superstitious imaginations. Let them 
consider that my situation, such as it is, 
is neither an object of my shame or my 
regret ; that my resolutions are too firm 
to be shaken ; that I am. not depressed by 
any sense of the divine displeasure ; that 
on the other hand, in the most momen- 
tous periods, I have had full experience 
of the divine favor and protection ; and 
that, in the solace and the strength which 
have been diffused into me from above, 
I have been enabled to do the will of 
God ; that I may oftcner think on what 
he has bestowed, than on what lie has 
withheld ; that, in short,! am unwilling to 
exchange my consciousness of rectitude 
with that of any other person ; and that 
I feel the recollection a treasured store of 
tranquillity and delight. But, if the choice 
were necessary, I would, sir, prefer my 
blindness to yours; yours is a cloud 
spread over the mind, which darkens 
both the light of reason and of con- 

science ; mine keeps from my view only 
the colored suifaces of things, while it 
leaves me at liberty to contemplate the 
beauty and stability of virtue and of 
truth. How many things are there be- 
sides, which I would not willingly see; 
how many which I must see against my 
will ; and how few which I feel any anxi- 
ety to see ? There is, as the Apostle 
has remarked, a way to strength through 
weakness. Let me then be the most fee- 
ble creature alive, as long as that feeble- 
ness serves to invigorate the energies of 
my rational and immortal ppirit; as long 
as in that obscurity in which I am enve- 
loped, the light of the divine presence the 
more clearly shines; then, in the propor- 
tion as I am weak, I shall be invincibly 
stro7i.ff ; and in the proportion as I am 
blind, I shall more clearly see. Oh ! that 
I may thus be perfected by feebleness, and 
irradiated by obscurity ! And, indeed, 
in my blindness I enjoy, in no inconsider- 
able degree, the favor of the Deity, who 
regards me with the more tenderness and 
compassion in the proportion as I am able 
to behold nothing but himself. Alas ! for 
him who insults me, who maligns and 
merits public execration ! For the divine 
law not only shields me from injury, but 
alm.ost renders me too sacred to attack ; 
not, indeed, so much from the privations 
of my sight, as from the overnhad^wing 
of those heavenly wings which seem to 
have occasioned this obscurity ; and which 
when occasioned He is wont to illuminate 
with an interior light more precious and 
more pure. 


Plan for the Spring Campaign of 1865. 



Sherman's ultimate objective point 
is doubtless Richmond, before which 
he expects to form a junction with 
Grant, forcing General Lee either to 
evacuate Virginia, or to accept battle 
at great disadvantage, and with cer- 
tain defeat by superior numbers. 
His immediate objective points are 
possiblj^ Fayetteville, and certainly 
Raleigh and Petersburg. His present 
position (at or near Camden, S. C.) 
and movements indicate a purpose to 
avoid Charlotte, and to move on Fay- 
etteville either directly or through 
Wilmington by way of Cheraw or 
Florence, effecting a junction with 
Schofield, from Wilmington, whose 
force is about 15,000 men. 1 estimate 
Sherman's force at not exceeding 
35,000 nien, exclusive of 4000 cav- 

This plan of campaign may be 
signally foiled: 

1st. The troops now concentrated 
under Hardee at Chei"aw, some 10,000 
infantry and light artillery, in conjunc- 
tion with the cavalry under Hamp- 
ton, should oppose Sherman's ad- 
vance, and do all possible to delay his 
march, making an obstinate defense of 
the line of the Pedee, for a time at 

2d. The forces at Charlotte, about 
6000 infantry and light artillery, 
should be sent by rail, via Raleigh, 
to Smithfield, N. C, as soon as Sher- 
man's movements are uncovered so 
clearly as to indicate his line of march 
to be the one anticipated. 

3d. From Smithfield this force 
should march at the proper moment, 
and form ajunction, at or in advance 
of Fayetteville, with Hardee, wdio 
would fall back gradually before Sher- 

4th. Bragg should retire from his 
present position about Fish Creek, 
near Wilmington, by railroad to 
Warsaw, and march thence to Fay- 
etteville, (47 miles,) so as to reach that 
place at the same time with the troops 
from Charlotte. He should cover or 

conceal his movements, from Scho- 
field by his cavalry, and a strong line 
of skirmishers, and some light artil- 
lery, which may be sacrificed if nec- 

By these means there would be as- 
sembled at Fayetteville : 

Hardee's corps, (infantry and 

artillery,) 10,000 

Army of Tennessee, . . . 6,000 
Bragg' s forces, 10,000 

Infantry and artillery, 26,000 

But Sherman will have a well-dis- 
ciplined and organized army of 35, - 
000 men, flushed with a series of suc- 
cesses, to cope with which, especially 
in the present condition of our forces, 
we should have at least an equal num- 
ber of men. The deficiency of some 
9000 men can only be drawn in sea- 
son for the emergency, from General 
Lee's army, and I would urge that 
that number of men be held to be 
detached for the service, in time to 
effect ajunction with the other troops 
to be concentrated at Fayetteville. 
We could then confidently attack 
Sherman, expect to destroy his army, 
and be left free at once to effect a 
junction with General Lee, with all 
our forces, except perhaps Bragg's 
corps, which might be required to 
watch Schofield. We could then 
attack Grant with superior numbers 
and defeat him signally. 

Should Sherman, however, be able 
to effect ajunction with Schofield, he 
will then have about 50,000 men, a 
force which would be too large to con- 
tend with, as arranged in the forego- 
ing sketch. 

In such a contingency, I can see no 
other means of preventing the com- 
plete attainment of the main objects 
of Sherman's campaign than by the 
prompt evacuation of our lines at 
Petersburg, and the occupation of 
those prepared for such an emergen- 
cy around Richmond, and by detach- 
ing 25,000 men to unite with the force 


Concerning Conceit. 


already in JTorth- Carolina, and give 
immediate battle to Sherman, which 
could be done with almost certain 
decisive success. After which the 
whole army should be hastened back 
to Virginia to raise the siege of Rich- 

Present events tending to force the 
evacuation of Richmond, it would 
seem a necessary part of the strategy 
of the campaign that the Confederate 
States Government should be pre- 
viously removed to some point that 

would free the army from the neces- 
sity of protecting it, and thus, at the 
same time, diminish the importance 
which the enemy attaches to Rich- 
mond as the capital of the Confeder- 
ate States. 
Respectfully submitted. 

Charlotte, N. C, March 1, 1865. 
(Signed) G. T. Beauregard, 

To Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, 

Commanding Dept, etc., etc., 

Charlotte, N. C. 


Pride may be called the Proteus of 
the whole brood of evil passions. 
Many would not be slow also to de- 
clare it the parent of them all. Some 
divines have regarded it as man's 
original sin ; and Milton is very well 
satisfied that it was the root of evil 
in Satan's case. It may be defined 
to be the feeling which is aroused by 
the perception of some supposed ad- 
vantage or superiority over others. 
Pride, therefore, implies comparison. 
One could no more be proud with- 
out reference to another whom he ap • 
prehended to be inferior, than he 
could be taller without reference to 
another who was shorter. But its 
manifestations are diverse. One 
proud man is prompted to evince the 
comparative feeling which possesses 
him, by depreciating his fellow who 
is the object of the comparison, and 
thus his pride becomes haughtiness. 
Another, of a different temperament, 
evinces the same feeling by attempt- 
ing to display his own superiority, 
instead of degrading his rival; and 
then we call his pride vanity or con- 
ceit. In one man, pride is suspicious, 
envious, and ready to take the alarm, 
at the appearance of competition ; in 
another it is so happily confirmed, 
that it reposes good-naturedly in the 
sense of its unapproachable superi- 
ority, and is condescendingly kind to 
the rest of mortals. 

As pride is the feeling which arises 

upon the apprehension of some supe- 
riority in self, and as self-love is uni- 
versal, it would appear evident that 
all men must be sensible to this plea- 
sure. In other words, every body 
has his conceit. And it is the pre- 
rogative of tbis foible to bid defiance 
to right reason, in the wisest as well 
as the weakest of mankind. Great- 
ness is no guarantee against the in- 
dulgence of conceit, about things of 
which, even though pride were proper 
in other excellencies, it is preposter- 
ous to be proud. How often is the 
statesman, whose skill in arts or 
arms is admired and envied by all 
the world, more gratified by his dex- 
terity in some game of chance ? It 
is said that Alexander the Great 
plumed himself upon his ability to 
hold more wine than any other mor- 
tal; that Cicero was especially vain 
of his readiness at puns ; that the 
great Napoleon was vain of a beauti- 
ful hand; and that even the lofty 
Washington was conceited about his 
hoi'semanship. Moralists are much 
given to a species of grave amuse- 
ment, which consists in bringing the 
vagaries of the human heart to the 
measuring-rod of reason, in order 
that the absurdity of their form may 
be made evident. There is no feel- 
ing which offers a better subject for 
this than conceit. The multitudes, 
who plume themselves upon their 
family descent, are gravely asked, 


Concerning Conceit. 


whether they suppose the merit of 
the quaUties which distinguished their 
ancestors, is heritable, like their lands 
and bullocks, and are reminded that 
if they have not similar personal 
merits of their own, the distinction 
of their race is only a pedestal, upon 
which their defect is elevated that it 
may be more extensively despised. 
•The purse-proud are reminded that 
money just as often represents the 
fraud, stinginess, and sordid mean- 
nesses by which it has been acquired, 
as any admirable quality. Cowper 
skillfully analyzes the illusion by 
which the inflated squire expands his 
personality, in a certain sense, over 
his possessions, and arrogates excel- 
lence to himself from the superior 
fatness of his clods, the bigness of 
his bullock and swine, and the fleet- 
ness of his horse and dog ; and very 
faithfully exhorts him upon this sort 
of petit-larceny of merits : 

" Leave Ringwoorl's praise alone ; 
The hound, more lionest, envies not tliine own." 

For which virtuous interposition 
honest Ringwood was doubtless duly 
grateful, unless, indeed, his dogship 
took this not unnatural view of 
the matter, that the proper busi- 
ness of the master, who could 
speak, was to sound the praises 
of the dog, who could not — an ar- 
rangement which made the beast the 
important character, and the man his 
lackey. But the best butt of all is 
the vanity of the male or female fop- 
ling. How unworthy, that a creature 
whose prime distinction is his ration- 
ality, should neglect the graces of 
the soul, to adorn the part which 
allies him with beasts and reptiles ! 
That he who is, in his own resources, 
the most naked and helpless of 
bipeds, should ruffle so conceitedly 
in the borrowed spoils of birds, 
sheep, and silkworms ! That the 
breast should be filled and the cheek 
be flushed with as proud a glow, for 
the newly discovered color of a 
riijbon, the unprecedented involu- 
tions of a bow, or the placing of a 
button where a button was never 
placed before, as that which might 
thrill the heart of the patriot who is 

hailed as the Father of his country ! 
But the most biting part of the jest 
is, that the high immortal, in this 
his chosen competition with the lowly 
animal, should always be surpassed 
by his irrational rivals; being out- 
done in gracefulness by a cat, in 
sleekness by a snake, in swiftness by 
a fox, and in strength by an ass. 

This satire has too its sacred part ; 
for conceit has not hesitated in its 
protean changes to assume the guise 
of sanctity. Divines find their sub- 
ject of similar rebuke, in "spiritual 
pride ;" that preposterous inflation, 
which presumes upon its possession 
of much Christianity, forgetting that 
this is professedly a religion for spir- 
itual paupers, the foundation of which 
is laid in the doctrine of total and 
original depravity, whose prime exer- 
cises are confessing and begging, 
whose scheme God devised expressly 
to "exclude boasting," and whose 
most appropriate grace is humility. 
But nevertheless does conceit make 
a pretext of this religion, to say : 
"Stand by thyself; come not nigh 
me ; I am hoher than thou." Does 
the victim of this pride detect it, and 
cast it out by the door ? It returns 
by the window, for forthwith his 
heart begins to whisper, with new 
pride: "Soul, how lovely is thy hu- 
mility !" Does he now perceive that 
he is vain of his very lowliness? 
Then his heart whispers still another 
cause of self-gratulation : " Soul, 
how keen thy perspicacity ! Thou 
canst analyse thyself with lightning 
clearness. Thou art not, like duller 
mortals, the victim of self-ignorance 
and unconscious delusions !" 

Suppose, reader, that you should 
hear the retort made upon the critic 
himself: " And is not thine likewise 
a conceit, which prompts thee to 
probe so keenly the conceit of oth- 
ers ? Is not satire also the language 
of pride and arrogance?" Let us 
suppose that an application should be 
made to him, of the fable of Diogenes 
and Alexander the Great, which re- 
lates that the cynic philosopher, en- 
tering the presence of the king with- 
disrespectful IndifiFerence, said, "I 


CoTieerning Conceit. 


trample on the pride of Alexander;" 
when the latter answered : " Yes, 
and with greater pride." Still, Dio- 
genes will reply, that, if he is him- 
self convicted of the universal mala- 
dy, it is only another evidence of the 
proposition which he set out to illus- 
trate; which was, its universality. 
And Diogenes's conceit will teach him 
to urge this as an nxguxaQni d fortiori; 
how subtile must the Proteus be, if 
he reduces even the acute cynic to 
his herd ? 

Conceit, however, manifestly afflicts 
its victims unequally. Some nations 
betray a much stronger proclivity to 
it than others. The Continentals 
think that, in its haughtier forms, it 
is peculiarly prominent in John Bull, 
who is religiously persuaded that 
Britannia rules the waves ; that her 
queen is the first of queens ; that her 
capital is the biggest of cities ; that 
the British Parliament is the wisest 
of legislatures; that Bull himself is 
right by prescription in all his opin- 
ions ; that his social state and wealth 
are so enviable in the eyes of the less 
fortunate remainder of mortals, that 
every one he meets is, of course, 
scheming to intrude into their enjoy- 
ment by some illicit means ; and that 
London fog, beef-steak, and brown- 
stout are unquestionably superior to 
those institutions in any other land. 

But the acute biographer of Captain 
Sam Slick has propounded the opin- 
ion that the conceit of the " univer- 
sal Yankee nation" is far superior, 
and confessedly "beats creation;" an 
opinion in which not only the British 
people, but mankind in general, are 
now almost unanimously agreed. 
And, as it is the established doctrine 
with the American people, that the 
majority must always be right, this 
conclusion must be accepted as indis- 
putable, that we are the most con- 
ceited people in the world. Should 
the reader happen to bring together 
the beginning and end of this portion 
of our essay, thus getting the initial 
and concluding facts into juxtaposi- 
tion, that, according to Milton, sin 
first began in Satan's pride, and that 
the Yankee is the most conceited of 

men, we caution him to remember, 
that the inference thereby suggested 
is not ours, but Milton's — and the 
majority's. And it was a Yankee 
(not we) who was heard arguing from 
this trait of his compatriots, most in- 
geniously, as follows : "The Yankee 
can not go to heaven ; proof — those 
who go there will be satisfied there. 
But the Yankee is so tlioroughly con- 
vinced that he is ' 'cuter ' than every 
body else, that no one can ' fix ' things 
so well, but that he will see a way to 
'improve' them, and itch to do it. 
But things in heaven are unchangea- 
ble, and so can not be improved." 
Q. E. D. 

But, more seriously, conceit is un- 
doubtedly the fruitful mother of 
speculative error. The pert and vain 
understanding is determined to utter 
something notable; and so, rather 
than win a true distinction by the 
only honest mode, ("to scorn de- 
lights and live laborious days,") it 
affects the skeptic or transcenden- 
talist. Hence this age, like most 
others, swarms with a race of half- 
fledged mystics, pantheists, and un- 
believers, who are heretical in the- 
ology and philosophy from sheer 
affectation and vanity ; who go about 
retailing the cant of their heresiarchs, 
and uttering obscure novelties, (old 
errors revived,) as a sort of cheaj) 
substitute for profundity. . They tell 
us with a sigh, that they can no 
longer be satisfied (they wish they 
could!) with the views of philosophy 
and theology M'hich satisfied a Gas- 
sendi, a Bacon, a Newton, a Clarke, 
and a Butler. They have dived 
deeper into the abysses of the "in- 
tuitional consciousness," and have 
gained a clearer insight into truth. 
Sometimes they are heard, with a 
conceit still more affected, professing 
a wish that they could believe as 
their fathers did. They really ad- 
mire Jesus o? Nazareth ; indeed, they 
are quite disposed to patronize him. 
They are willing, at least, to give him 
one niche in their gallery of heroes, 
along with a Zoroaster, a Woden, a 
Socrates, a Mohammed, a Napoleon, 
and a Kant. They avow that this 


Concerning Conceit. 


thing the Christians call faith, would 
be very pleasing ; it is so child-like, 
so composing, so beautiful. But, 
alas ! they must pay the penalty of 
their greater wisdom ; their superior 
light must needs dissipate those 
graceful and venerable myths which 
at once awed and fascinated the ruder 
minds we have mentioned, and so 
they are compelled to relinquish the 
pleasing puerilities of the Bible, al- 
though it is done quite sadly. 

Now what is all this but mere con- 
ceit ? which rather than permit its 
authors to pass along in that obscure 
mediocrity which is their due, will be 
singular by being erroneous ; which 
prefers to be cheated, rather than to 
be insignificant. And what is the 
true motive of the species of diction 
which they affect, where perspicu- 
ous simplicity is carefully shunned, 
where new or perverted terms are 
employed to express old ideas, in 
order that the unsubstantial charac- 
ter of the thought may be concealed 
by the tinsel of seeming novelty, and 
where speculations are obtruded, not 
because they are seen to be true, but 
because they are believed to be in- 
genious? So, much of the maudlin 
profundities of transcendentalism is 
but a trick of its teachers to flatter 
tliemselves and their pupils into a 
belief of their own intellectual great- 
ness. It is thus the plan works : 
Let the author fill his pages with a 
flood of strange, long, hard terms, 
which shall be sufficiently unintelli- 
gible, and yet tease the reader's mind 
with the phantom of a resemblance 
to sense and solid reason, and let him 
make himself, by some artifice, "the 
fashion " in the literary clique which 
he affects. As the pupil fares along 
through his lucubrations, like Mil- 
ton's Satan through Chaos, "nigh 
foundered, treading the crude con- 
sistence half on foot, half flying," 
his mental vanity very surely fur- 
nishes the desired inference. Says 
the reader : " If these speculations 
are thus obscure to my acute dis- 
crimination, (his possession of which 
is self-evident,) how grandly profound 
must be the mind which could pro- 

duce them all!" So likewise the 
master provides for the scholar a 
ready recompense for this tribute of 
adulation, in a cognate deduction. 
It is this: "But I also comprehend 
and love, at least, much of this high 
mystery, which to the baser many is 
a sealed Ijook. Am I not also entitled 
to call myself of the esoteric circle ?" 
So, conceit spurs on the reader to ap- 
plaud and ape his Coryphaeus, to 
echo his muddy dicta, and to at- 
tempt to babble in his pedantic gib- 
berish. The writers and the readers 
of this species of philosophy, falsely 
so-called, form a species of "mutual 
admiration society." 

Intellectual vanity has done yet 
wider mischief in another way, which, 
if less criminal and disreputable, 
has been more general. This foible 
perpetually betrays men into an over- 
weening confidence in the certainty 
of the deductions of reason, and a 
disregard for its proper limitations. 
Men speculate as boldly as though a 
thousand errors had not evinced the 
liability of their understandings to 
error; and when once their darling 
speculations are published, conceit 
forbids that they should be ques- 
tioned. It is not pleasant to him 
whose trade is philosophizing, to re- 
member how often the current and 
general opinions of ages have been 
found at fault ; how not only prop- 
ositions which were believed to be the 
clearest deductions of science have 
been exploded, but dogmas held for 
necessary axioms have been showij 
to be not even truths, and much less 
self-evident truths ; for how many 
generations the Ptolemaic system of 
the skies was held, and how, after 
Galileo had seen its undoubted falsity 
in the first revelations of his rude 
telescopes, the logicians both of Rome 
and Geneva continued to prove by 
rule and figure of logic, that it was 
undoubtedly true ; how the scholas- 
tic ages founded their systems of 
pneumatics and hydrostatics upon 
the axiom that "nature abhors va- 
cuum," until Torricelli showed that 
this abhorrence only extended to ihe 
height of thirty-three feet, over an 


Coneerning Conceit. 


inclosed column of water ; how even 
Des Cartes was governed in his theory 
of the movements of the universe by 
the old maxim "that no body 
can act where it is not," while New- 
ton showed that every instance of 
planetary attraction, that great law 
which binds the worlds in order, was 
an example of a body exerting its 
force beyond the limits of its own ex- 
istence ; and above all, how the Scrip- 
tures, in teaching us that God made 
the world out of nothing, exploded 
that proposition, which the whole an- 
cient world had held as self-evident, 
that eternal, self-existent matter was 
as necessary to the creative act as 
an eternal, self-existent Creator. 
Were the wise men of olden times 
fools, as compared with us ? Should 
we conclude them so, this would be 
the best proof that we are the fools 
above all predecessors. They were 
men ; and the proper inference to be 
drawn from their persistent errors, 
is that the human understanding, 
though a precious instrument when 
guided by caution, humility and dili- 
gence, is an instrument at best feeble 
and imperfect. 

It had been well for man, also, if 
he had exercised lowliness enough to 
acknowledge what the human mind 
can not compass, and to recognize its 
proper limitations. Most speculative 
errors may be traced to an unwilling- 
ness to acquiesce in inscrutable mys- 
tery as one of their sources. Men 
have been like Milton's evil angels, 
who sought to beguile the pains of 
their remorse : 

" Reasoning high 
Of providence, foreknowleflge, will, and fate, 
Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute, 
And found no end, in wandering mazes lost." 

Thus have they been ever beating 
against the walls of the incompre- 
hensible. As the crowning absurdity 
of this intellectual conceit stands 
the axiom that nothing can be be- 
lieved which is not also intelligible. 
Men forget that while the evidence 
on which we believe must be intelligi- 
ble, in order to produce rational be- 
lief, the proposition evidenced may 

VOL. I. — HO. III. 

be in large part unintelligible, and 
yet be most manifestly true. Indeed, 
by this arrogant rule we could believe 
nothing, for there is nothing so fa- 
miliarly known that it does not in- 
volve an incomprehensible mystery. 
When man has learned the highest 
wisdom of his race, every blade of 
grass which he crushes beneath his 
feet involves a mystery which he can 
not solve, and an. organism whose 
construction he can not imitate. Does 
he study himself, the knowing, intel- 
ligent subject ? He does not know 
what is the tie which connects the 
conscious spirit with the corporeal 
senses through which alone he 
studies and observes. Does Re specu- 
late about the organic world, and dis- 
play his learning about all trees, 
from the cedar of Lebanon even unto 
the hyssop that springeth out of the 
wall. He can not define that vegetable 
life which gives character to them all, 
nor tell what he means by the vi- 
tality which distinguishes a plant 
from a stone, or that which separates 
a man from a plant. 

It is a familiar and just trope which 
represents intellection by vision, 
truth by light, and ignorance hj dark- 
ness. The limited domain of any 
finite mind may therefore be aptly 
compared to a circle of light bounded 
by darkness. The circle of light 
possessed by the learned is wider 
than that beheld by the unlearned — 
both alike have their circumferences 
of darkness. There is no line of light 
radiating from the centre, or crossing 
the illuminated disk as a chord, 
which does not gradually hide its 
ends in thick night. Let man in- 
crease his knowledge, and thereby 
extend his circle of light — still he has 
only pushed off a little farther the 
dark boundary of the unknown ; and 
he has increased also the length of 
that circumference of ignorance by 
which his knowledge is bounded. 
He has just so much multiplied the 
points at which his knowledge ter- 
minates in the unknown. He, there- 
fore, who knows most is most con- 
scious of ignorance. The greater his 
knowledge, the more numerous the 


Concerning Conceit. 


points at which he feels himself ar- 
rested by his own ignorance. 

Hence it follows that the wisest 
are ever the most humble. It is the 
sciolist who is puffed up by his 
scanty acquisitions. " With the 
lowly is wisdom." It follows equally 
that with the increase of knowledge, 
humility of mind becomes more and 
more necessary. As the points are 
multiplied whei-e knowledge is arrest- 
ed by the unknown, more frequent 
and larger demands are made upon 
the submissive spirit, to own its 
weakness, and pause in its inquiries. 
This will be true even in heaven ; for 
as man can never become omniscient, 
one effect of the increase of his pow- 
ers and knowledge will be to extend 
the length of that boundary of dark- 
ness by which his vision will still be 
embraced. As questions are solved 
which are now mysteries to us, new 
mysteries will emerge, grander, more 
profound, more numerous, of whose 
existence our feeble minds are now 
unconscious. The new truths ac- 
quired will doubtless explain many 
things now inexplicable, in the rela- 
tions of the truths we now hold ; but 
those new truths will also doubtless 
unfold novel and grand relations be- 
tween themselves, disclosing the ex- 
istence of still higher mysteries, be- 
fore which the soul must still bow. 
So that by the very reason more is 
comprehended, more things must be 
believed which can not be compre- 

Pride and conceit are aspiring ; 
and yet it is demonstrable that their 
whole brood are debasing to the soul 
in which they harbor, while humili- 
ty is elevating. Pride and humility 
imply a comparison between him who 
feels them and some other. The 
proud man is proud because he fan- 
cies himself superior in something to 
the person with whom he compares 
himself. The humble man is hum- 
ble, because he sees himself below 
the standard of his comparison. In 
the numerous gradations of wisdom 
and excellence, any person who is 
neither in the lowest place of all nor 
in the scat of divine perfection has 

both superiors and inferiors. He 
might, therefore, either feel pride as 
he compared himself with those be- 
low him, or humility as he measured 
himself with those above him. This, 
then, is the character of pride and 
conceit, to look habitually downward 
at the inferiority and defects beneath 
them. But the trait of the humble 
man is, that he contemplates, and 
aspires after the excellence that is 
above him. He is humble, because 
he looks ever above him, at a stand- 
ard of excellence which attracts and 
elevates, while it rebukes him. 
Which, then, is the ennobling habit 
of soul ? It is humility which sets 
the soul in the path of ascending ex- 
cellence ; while pride, looking at the 
abject things beneath itself, places it 
in the indolent and vile descent to- 
ward those groveling things with 
which alone its selfishness will per- 
mit comparison. 

These diverse influences are propa- 
gated in two ways. The sense of 
defect is the stimulus to effort. He 
who looks above and is perpetually 
humbled by his sense of inferiority, 
finds in the habitual objects of his 
comparison at once the spur to no- 
bler exertions, and the model for his 
self-improvement. But he who only 
gratifies his self-love by comparisons 
which may minister arguments for 
self-gratulation, is attracted away 
from consciousness of defect, and 
consequently makes no effort to rise. 
Second, the character is always as- 
similated to the objects with which it 
is most familiar. And with what ob- 
ject can the soul be so truly said' to 
converse as with those by which it 
habitually measures itself? Since it 
is the nature of humility to measure 
itself by things nobler than itself, 
and of pride to compare itself only 
with the viler, humility is the enno- 
bling, aspiring temper, and pride the 
abject and degrading. Pride is the 
vulture, which fancies that it is soar- 
ing at a lofty height as it prowls on 
level wing above the tree-tops, be- 
cause its eyes are ever bent down- 
ward to the garbage on whicli it 
battens. Humility is the eagle, which, 


The Lion and other Beasts. 


as she soars beyond mortal ken to- tic of the noblest natures. And it 
ward the sun, says not that she is may be justly concluded of every 
high, because her eye is filled with system of education, or of social or 
the glories of the Empyrean to which religious institutions, that just in 
she mounts. proportion as they generate conceit, 
It may now be comprehended why they are mischievous and corrupt- 
profound humility is the characteris- ing. 


The hyena complained to the leop- 
ards that the lion was growing lordly 
and lazy, and lay snoring in his den, 
surrounded by his lioness and cubs, 
while the poor jackal had to hunt 
for him, bring in the prey, and divide 
it with the idle pack. A pleasant- 
looking leopard, whose white spots 
shone brightly on a ground of cop- 
per, replied that the Great Spirit had 
given the jackal an instinct to hunt 
for the lion, and that he had never 
been known to hunt for himself with- 
out the supervision of the beast 
which protected him. "But," an- 
swered the hyena, " the old jackal- 
driver is saucy as well as lazy, and 
growls contemptuously at his bet- 
ters, who hunt and kill their own lambs 
in an honest way." Thereupon a 
howl was raised, and the beasts all 
resolved to go to the lion's den and 
chastise him for his insolence. And 
the fox made them a song for their 
march about the wrongs and ill- 
treatment of the jackal. But when 
they came to march, the orator and 
the poet and the benevolent leopard 
all hung back. The hyena said that 
he had to stay behind to attend to 
the national interests of the beasts, 
that his hatred of the lion was well 
known, and that, the recusant leo- 
pard should be forced to go, since his 
friendship for the lion was notorious. 

The fox said he must stay with his 
foxess, who was in a delicate way, 
and one of the little ones had been 
out too late at a hen-roost, and had 
-caught a very bad cold. "But," he 
added, looking at the lagging leopard, 
"I hate all who are skulking behind 

through friendship for the wicked old 

So the kind leopard was forced to 
join the army, and his friends were 
so pleased with his conduct that they 
gave him the post of honor and of 

On reaching the lion's den, and 
making known their message to the 
savage tyrant, he roared terribly and 
sprang upon his old friend and man- 
gled him in a very unfriendly vsay. 
So the beasts marched back to their 
own country and held a grand pow- 
wow. The mangled leopard wanted 
the hyena to take his place, but the 
hyena said that he was needed "to 
stir the great heart of the nation" at 
home, and suggested that the Bengal 
tiger be sent for. 

The fox said that though the health 
of the foxess was not yet restored, 
and though his unfortunate son was 
still suffering from a cold, he was 
willing to make sacrifices for the good 
of the common cause, and would take 
any profitable contract for sharpening 
the claws and whetting the teeth of 
the warriors in the field. Unhappy 
fox that he was, he could not give 
his services for nothing, since he 
wanted a little jewelry and a few deli- 
cacies for his afllicted dame. So the 
Bengal tiger was'sent for, and told of 
all the sins of the a,trocious despot. 
The fox sharpened . his claws and 
whetted his teeth, and sung him the 
song, "'Tis sweet and glorious to 
die for one's country." " What are 
ye afther paying ?" replied the tiger. 
The hyena patted him on the shoul- 
der, called him a fine fellow, and said 


Hints to Parents. 


he knew that the best fighters in the 
world came from the bogs and jun- 
gles of Bengal. " What are ye afther 
paying?" once more replied the tiger. 

The lazy old lion, unconscious of 
the formidable preparations, had 
bragged over his victory until he had 
fallen into a sound sleep, when he 
was suddenlj^ aroused by the roar of 
a vast multitude of furious animals 
around him. One of his cubs, seeing 
what the end must be, went out, 
kissed the great toe of the tiger, told 
him that he was always opposed to 
this jackal-driving, and thought his 
sire was a wicked old wretch. And 
to show his zeal and sincerity, at- 
tacked him in his most vulnerable 

A great battle ensued. The tiger 
lost his right eye, the deserter cub 
had his ear cropped off, the friendly 
leopard was worse lacerated than be- 
fore, but the leopards with the black 
spots kept out of the melee^ till the 
old lion was slain. Now, then, while 
all were resting from the toils of con- 
flict, a voice was suddenly heard. It 
was from the hyena, (which was sup- 
posed to be a great way off,) in. the 
attitude of triumph, on the carcass 
of the dead lion. " My friends, we 
have gained a great victory, and 
though I have been somewhat aided 
by the Great Spirit, remember that / 
brought on this fight. / always pre- 
dicted its happy issue, / always 
cheered the faint-hearted, / always 
forced in the reluctant. J/e, my 

fellow-beasts will recognize as the 
author of war and the organizer of 
victory." Next, the treble pipe of 
the fox was heard : " Fellow-soldiers, 
my odes have led you to glory, my 
labors in whetting the teeth and 
sharpening the claws have insured a 
brilliant success. Brother warriors, 
let us take o fF the hide of the ty- 
rant and clothe the ill-used jackal." 
The leopards with the black spots 
growled their approbation. So they 
clad the poor jackal with the lion's 
skin and adopted him into the family 
of beasts. The jackal, in his new 
dress, thought that he must play the 
lion, and refused to hunt for his prey. 
Some days elapsed, when the hyena 
and the fox passed by the den in gay 
military costume. (National affairs 
were not now so urgent, and the fox- 
ess was much better.) A flight of 
buzzards and a noisome smell warned 
them that death had been busy there. 
" 'Tis the rotten old tyrant," said the 
hyena. " No," answered the fox, 
"look, 'tis our poor friend, the jack- 
al, he has starved to death;" and 
here the fox put his tail to his eye and 
seemed to weep. " Never mind your 
sentimental nonsense," said the hy- 
ena, "isn't the haughty tyrant dead 
also ?" " Ah ! that thought comforts 
me," replied the fox. 

Do your own hunting, and mind 
youi' own business. 


We believe that all known religious 
systems, whether true or false, enjoin 
fasting as a duty. The Chinese, the 
Japanese, the Hindoos, the Moham- 
medans, the American Indians, as 
well as the nations of Christendom, 
liave their stated periods of absti- 
nence from food and carnal indul- 
gence. This, like the wide-spread 

belief in vicarious suffering, an uni- 
versal deluge, a world of supremo 
happiness or eternal misery, seems to 
point to a common origin for our race. 
A common tradition in all parts of 
the world, among all classes and 
conditions of men, implies necessarily 
the same starting-point. 

It is scarcely possible that an iden- 

* Continued from May number. 


Hints to Parents. 


tity of belief could have sprung up 
simultaneously upon so many dif- 
ferent subjects, among such numer- 
ous nations and tribes in parts so re- 
mote from each other, and connected 
by so little social and commercial in- 
tercourse. That would be a greater 
miracle than any recorded in the 
Bible. Certainly, it is easier to con- 
ceive that the Caucasian and African 
have been " made of one blood," than 
that such distinct portions of man- 
kind should concur in certain opin- 
ions, which they all claim to have been 
handed down among them from gen- 
eration to generation. The skeptic 
rejects the teaching of the Bible as 
too hard for belief, only to adopt the 
most childish credulity upon other 
subjects. Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, 
could not credit the miracles of the 
Bible, but found no difficulty in be- 
lieving that God had wrought a spe- 
cial miracle in his own case, and in 
ansvrer to his prayer had signified by 
a voice from heaven the divine appro- 
bation of the publication of a paltry 
book. The infidels of the French 
Eevolution proclaimed that the age 
of faith had passed, and that the age 
of reason liad come, and they scorn- 
<J!fully rejected a pure and holy God of 
iiifinite'wasdom, to worship an impu- 
dent courtesan, as the Goddess of 

Cordially accepting the Bible as the 
word of God, and fully believing that 
it teaches that " all mankind descend- 
ed from Adam and Eve by ordinary 
generation," we look to its sacred 
pages to discover the origin, intent, 
and signification of a religious rite 
that has prevailed in all ages of the 
world, and among all nations civiliz- 
ed and uncivilized, heathen and evan- 

Some suppose that the first fast 
spoken of in the Bible is that of 
Abraham on the occasion of the death 
of his wife, and that the second is 
that of Jacob when it was reported 
to him that his son Joseph had been 
torn in pieces by wild beasts. But 
there is nothing in the Hebrew word, 
which in our English version has 
been rendered " mourn^" that neces- 

sarily implies that either the bereav- 
ed husband or father exhibited grief 
by abstinence from food. 

We assume, then, that the first re- 
corded fasts are those of the great 
leader of Israel. Three are mention- 
ed, each of forty days' duration. The 
first, previous to receiving the tables 
of the law ; the second, on account of 
the sin of the children of Israel in 
making and worshiping the golden 
calf; the third, on renewing the tables, 
which had been broken. It is a sig- 
nificant fact that these first recorded 
fasts were all with respect to that 
pure and holy law, which the heaven- 
appointed promulger foresaw would 
be broken to the end of time. Hence 
his humiliation and self-mortification 
in the presence of its dread Author. 

We next read that Joshua and the 
Hebrew rulers wept, fasted, and be- 
moaned themselves before God on ac- 
count of the repulse at Ai. We learn 
that Elijah fasted forty days and 
nights, and this seems to have been 
in preparation for meeting the Lord 
of Hosts on Mount Horeb. 

David fasted when his child of 
treachery and sin lay on its death- 
bed. Daniel fasted and made confes- 
sion of sin for himself and his people. 
Samuel, Ahab, Jehosaphat, the Nin- 
evites, etc., fasted in order to avert 
threatened calamities. Moses ap- 
pointed one stated day in the year — 
the tenth of the month Tisri, on 
which all the tribes of Israel were to 
fast and make confession of sin. 
The Greeks had likewise a stated 
annual fast in which cakes could be 
eaten, but not animal food. Horace 
ridicules, in his own peculiar vein, 
the superstitious mother who expos- 
ed her son naked on the banks of the 
Tiber on a fast day, that she might 
thereby show her thankfulness to 
the gods for his recovery from a 
fever. The satirist thought that the 
gratitude of the mother would cer- 
tainly bring on the death of the- child 
by an ague worse than the fever he 
had escaped. A learned commenta- 
tor tells us that the rite of fasting 
was introduced among the Romans 
by Hebrews, Egyptians, and Chal- 


Hints to Parents. 


deans. There seems to be no room to 
doubt that all of them derived the 
rite originally fi'om the Israelites. 
It has been accompanied, in whatso- 
ever age or part of the world found, 
with the idea that mortification of 
the body, self-abasement, and self- 
denial, are pleasing to the offended 
majesty of Heaven. Back of this 
lies the thought that the flesh lusteth 
against the spirit, and the spirit 
against the flesh ; " and these are con- 
trary the one to the other ; so that ye 
cannot do the things that ye would." 
Jvist as the body of man obstructs 
the light of day (the symbol of Deity), 
does his animal nature prevent the 
shining of spiritual light into his soul. 
Let him walk out on some bright day 
and he will see in the shadow cast 
on the ground a sombre image of 
himself, its groveling and its black- 
ness proclaiming the degradation, 
and the guilt wrought by this body 
of sin and of death. Hence conquest 
over the sensual part of our being 
was so prominent in the Christian 
scheme of religion. Deny thyself 
and take up thy cross was the con- 
stant teaching of its founder. The 
cross was not merely the prophetic 
badge of suffering to be endured, 
but also the glorious ensign under 
which victory was to be won over the 
flesh. Hence the first preachers of 
the gospel frequently spoke of the 
body as crucified, and already dead, 
no longer a source of corruption to 
the soul. "Now if we be dead with 
Christ we believe that we also shall 
live with him." "Ye are dead and 
your life is hid with Christ in God." 
"Wherefore, if ye be dead with 
Christ from the rudiments of the 
world ;" " for if we be dead with him, 
we shall also live with him ; if we 
suffer, we shall also reign with him ;" 
"we being dead to sin should live to 

It is not strange that under such 
instruction the primitive Christians 
should have been so distinguished 
for austerity and unworklliness. 
Gibbon has said of them : " Their 
serious and sequestered life, averse 
to the gay luxury of the age, inured 

them to chastity, temperance, econ- 
omy, and all the sober domestic 
virtues. As the greater number 
were of some trade or profession, it 
was incumbent on them by the strict- 
est integrity, and the fairest dealing, 
to remove the suspicions which the 
profane are too apt to conceive against 
the appearances of sanctity. The 
contempt of the world exercised in 
them habits of humility, meekness, 
and patience. Even their faults, or 
rather errors were derived from an 
excess of virtue. Ambitious to ex- 
alt the perfection of the Gospel above 
the wisdom of philosophy, the zeal- 
ous fathers carried the duties of self- 
mortification, of purity, and of pa- 
tience, to a height which it is scarcely 
possible to attain, and much less 
preserve in our present state of weak- 
ness and corruption." The Mosaic 
economy aimed at the same thing as 
the Christian, in the destruction of 
greed, covetousness, and worldliness 
in every form. The Israelite, how- 
ever far he dwelt from Jerusalem, 
had to leave his business, his farm, 
his home, and journey thither three 
times a year with all his family. He 
had to pay a tenth of all that he pos- 
sessed to the Levites, and to give 
contributions of other sorts amount- 
ing in all to not less than a fifth of his 
entire income. His land had to lie 
uncultivated every seventh year. 
His Hebrew slave became a freeman 
after six years' service. He could 
perform no labor in the year of jubi- 
lee, and then the fields and houses 
which he had bought must return to 
their original owners. The primitive 
Christians went beyond even this. 
They sold their possessions and had 
all things in common. 

Now we are far from recommending 
asceticism. We fear that it too often 
ends in gloom, sourness, moroseness, 
and fault-finding. We like to see 
contentment and cheerfulness always, 
and fun and frolic in their proper 
places. But we do recommend hav- 
ing the passions and appetites in such 
perfect control that they may never 
be injurious to ourselves Or others. 
Believing that the Author of Chris- 


JBints to Parents. 


tianity is a God of benevolence, we 
believe also that his injunction of 
self-denial is meant to promote the 
happiness of his creatures. We have 
no doubt that the man of fewest 
wants is the happiest man. Artificial 
desires increase more rapidly than 
their possible gratification. The 
child is as much pleased with a rusty 
nail, an old piece of iron, a fragment of 
broken plate, as with the rarest and 
most costly toy, until you have culti- 
vated and developed in him a taste for 
the latter. Then he soon wearies of it, 
and wants a new one. Get that, and he 
whines for a third, and so the craving 
is never and can never be satisfied. It 
is thus with grown-up children. In- 
dulgence can never sate the longing 
for some as yet untasted joy. Hence 
man is happy just in proportion to his 
independence of his appetites. Of a 
numerous staif, we thought him to 
be the most habitually cheerful who 
used nor spirits, nor tobacco, nor cof- 
fee, nor tea. It has come within the 
knowledge of the most careless ob- 
server that the self-indulgent are 
never satisfied — the selfish never 
happy ; while the continent is ever 
content, and the generous is always 

But we go further than this, we 
believe self-indulgence and selfish- 
ness incompatible with greatness. 
We place these two terms together 
because they are closely allied. The 
self-indulgent man may not at first 
be selfish, nor is he necessarily hard- 
hearted. His natural impulses may 
be all kind. But whenever his own 
ease and personal gratification are to 
be surrendered for the good of coun- 
try or of individuals, he is incapable 
of the sacrifice. War, which calls 
for the greatest amount of physical 
endurance and mental anxiety, de- 
tects the latent selfishness of the 
self-indulgent. Hence the unmanly 
expedients of this class of persons 
to shun military service. Hence the 
magnificent failures of all such men 
in responsible positions. A general 
ofiicer, in speaking to the writer of 
the disastrous career of one whose 
name is almost the synonym of mis- 

fortune, said : " I knew he must 
fail, he was too selfish a man to suc- 

We know not how it was with our 
opponents, but certainly on our own 
side, every self-indulgent man met 
with some grave reverse. Their 
love of ease, of comfortable quarters, 
of good living, etc., made them ne- 
glect discipline reconnoissances, or 
some other important duty. The 
Apostle Paul, whose military figures 
prove him to have been well-read in 
the science of war, exhorts Timothy 
to endure hardness as a good soldier 
of Jesus Christ. 

Here the intimation is very plain 
that the successful soldier, as well as 
the successful Christian, is one who 
can endure hardness and is no eff"emi- 
nate softling. All of his allusions 
to military life show that he regarded 
it as afibrding the highest example 
of earnest, honest, unselfish devo- 
tion to a great principle. In the last 
closing scenes of his life, the mind 
of the great apostle reverted to the 
incidents of his toilsome, -self-sacri- 
ficing ministry, and he drew his 
comparison from the career of the 
generous and heroic soldier. " I 
have fought a good fight. I have 
finished my course. I have kept the 
faith. Henceforth there is laid up 
for me a crown of righteousness, 
which the Lord the righteous judge 
shall give me at that day." The 
aged warrior expects a crown of 
glory at the hands of the Captain of 
his salvation. 

This view of the subject explains 
the remarkable fact that the higliest 
type of Christian character has been 
found in camp. Selfishness and its 
direct off"shoot, pride, are the two 
great causes which militate against 
repentance toward God and faith in 
our Lord Jesus Christ. But the 
whole career of the soldier is in 
direct opposition to both. The hot 
weary march, the dreary night- 
watch, the scanty ration, the cheer- 
less bivouac, the fatiguing labor, the 
necessity of yielding to the tastes and 
inclinations of his comrades, the im- 
plicit obedience to be given to his 


Hints to Parents. 


superiors — all these strike at habits 
of self-indulgence and lofty notions 
of self-importance. But if the march 
and the camp cut off the boughs of 
selfishness, the field of battle lays 
the axe at its very roots. The sol- 
dier is now called upon to make an 
entire surrender of self and to pre- 
sent himself a living sacrifice upon 
the altar of his country. The selfish 
man can not make the dedication. 
Hence he is fruitful in expedients to 
avoid the field or plays an ignoble 
part in the hour of trial. The writer 
of this remembers a conversation 
upon the subject of courage between 
two officers, who had themselves 
seen death under its most terrible 
aspects in many a stubborn fight. 
They both agreed in defining courage 
to be "unselfishness in the presence 
of danger," though it is probable 
that neither of them knew that they 
had employed almost the very words 
of the great British poet, who sound- 
ed the very depths of the human 
heart and knew all its hidden re- 
cesses : "He that is truly dedicate to 
war hath no self-love ; and he that 
loves himself hath not essentially 
but by circumstance the name of 
valor." In the broad light of day 
and with the eyes of the world upon 
him, the lover of self may exhibit 
the semblance of courage ; but take 
away from him his factitious sup- 
ports and his innate poltroonery will 
appear. The dead carcass of a land 
animal will float upon the ocean, 
when inflated with the gases of pu- 
trefaction. Prick the inflated mass ; 
it sinks to the bottom, while the na- 
tives of the deep are revelling amid 
the roar and surging of the billows. 
Thus the presumptuous egotist may 
be borne along by the current into 
the thickest of the contest ; but let 
his bladders of support collapse, and 
he will shrink into the shivering- 
coward, while his really brave com- 
panions are exulting in " the joy of 
battle," a phrase which the Roman 
invented and which those of Roman 
soul can alone understand. 

The war has demonstrated beyond 
all denial that duelists, street bul- 

lies, heroes of bar-rooms and old 
field musters have an unconquerable 
aversion to battle-fields. One of the 
greatest bullies the writer ever knew 
managed for three years to be sick 
at every battle. Forced in at last, he 
acquitted himself respectably. We 
had trusted that these gentlemen 
were so M^ell understood now, that 
one would never more hear their 
bluster and braggadocio. But in 

the village of , in a sister State, 

we were annoyed by the old rowdy- 
ism and the old flourish of pistols, 
and were troubled with that nervous 
twitching in the toe of the right 
boot, which the most patient feel 
under such circumstances. We were 
curious enough to inquire the history 
of the champions, and were told that 
the noisiest had been advised by his 
company after the first battle to take 
care of his dear wife and sweet 
children at home. The other had 
been famous for the fine dinners and 
champagne suppers given by him to 
the conscript officers. Bullyism pro- 
ceeds from the tyrannical desire to 
oppress and inj ure the weak. Rowdy- 
ism shows an utter disregard for the 
comfort and feelings of others. Both 
are unmistakable marks of selfish- 
ness, and consequently of cowardice. 
The truculent bravo, whether at home 
lording over his own household, in a 
court-room badgering a witness, or 
in the legislative hall devising 
schemes of humiliating the power- 
less, is a mean, selfish, wretch, and 
therefore a poltroon at heart. » 

Censoriousness as well as tyranny 
flow naturally from the fountain of 
selfishness. All the ways of a' self- 
ish man are right in his own eyes. 
All the ways of every other man are 
wrong in his eyes. He repents of 
the sins of the poor publican, and 
thanks God that he has none of his 
own. Hence he becomes a reformer, 
and when his reforms are not accept- 
ed he next becomes a persecutor. 
In Paradise he would have changed 
all the serpentine walks into right- 
lined avenues laid off according to 
his own compass and square. He 
would have dug up all the roses and 


Tlie Hatersach. 


replaced them by onions or other 
esculents of a fragrance savory to his 
own nasal organs. 

The carrion crow flies over our 
beautiful South ; but wath his eye 
fixed upon rottenness and garbage, 
he sees nothing of the loveliness of 
hill and dale, nothing of the magni- 
ficence of our forests and the bright 
sparkling of our rivers. He is look- 
ing only for the decaying carcasses, 
which his vicious tastes have taught 
him to love. Perched perhaps, upon 
some dead pine, he may look down 
upon our toiling and impoverished 
people in seeming unconsciousness 
that he has the foul odor and ugli- 
ness of an unclean bird. Thus it is 
with the selfish censor of others. 
He sees nothing of their amiable, 
generous, and noble qualities. His 
eye is keen to discover only those 
defects over which charity would 
fain throw a vail. Elevated too by 
his own egotism, or the adulation of 
kindred spirits, he may from his 
" bad preeminence " gaze scornfully 
upon the follies and foibles of his 
fellow creatures, ignorant that he 
himself is an object of loathing and 
detestatio.n to all who have minds to 
perceive and hearts to hate his base- 
ness and corruption. In brief, we 
have seen that the Mosaic economy 
and the Christian dispensation have 
taught directly the duty of self-dis- 
cipline, and that the religious systems 
of heathendom have in a modified 
form joined in the sublime teaching. 
We have seen history and experience 

showing that selfish and self-indulg- 
ent men can not be good and great, 
can not be brave and generous, hap- 
py and contented, and that they are 
ruthless and remorseless revilers and 
persecutors of others. Let all wise 
parents, then, make the eradication 
of selfishness a radical principle of 
family discipline. Let their first les- 
son to their children be to conquer 
their passions and appetites, and 
learn to consult the tastes, wishes, 
and inclinations of those by -svhom 
they are surrounded. Let them be 
told of the great hero, who when a 
child endured pain until he fainted, 
that he might gain a victory over 
self — who when his great career 
w^as drawing to a close, and he lay 
in the agonizing throes of a mortal 
wound uttered no groan for himself, 
but many words of pity and compas- 
sion for his fellow sufferers. Still 
better, let them be told of Him, who 
divested himself of the glories of 
divinity and took upon him the form 
of a servant, who gave up the joys 
of heaven for the sufferings of earth, 
in order that he might go about 
doing good, and "do not his own 
will, but the will of him that sent 
him." When they have learned to 
love his character and to imitate his 
example, parental instruction and 
parental guidance will be no longer 
needed. A life of usefulness and 
an eternity of happiness may then 
be hoped for as their lot and their 

{To le continued.) 


During the war we fi-equently saw 
the phrase "dying in the last ditch" 
attributed to General Pillow by the 
Northern press. Lately, we see that 
Brownlow of Tennessee, whose classic 
purity of style is so well known to 
the whole country, is receiving the 
credit of originating it. But with 
whomsoever the expression originat- 
ed, it was employed, long before the 
rebellion, by William the Third of 

England, Stadtholder of Holland, and 
Prince of Orange. When defending 
his hereditary dominions against the 
immense armies of Louis XIV., he 
was told by the French Embassador 
that inevitable destruction awaited 
his people, unless he would submit to 
the power of the Grand Monarch. 
He replied : " I have thought of the 
means of avoiding the sight of the 
ruin of my country ; I can die in the 


Tlie HaversacTc, 


last ditch." In Holland, intersected 
in every direction by canals whose 
embankments afforded the best de- 
fensive works, the language is preg- 
nant with meaning. It could have 
no local significance in any part of 
the United States. Byron has an 
allusion to this celebrated speech of 
WiUiam of Orange. In his diary we 
read : "Ward talks of going to Holland, 
and we have partly discussed an 
ensemble expedition. It must be in 
ten days, if at all, if we wish to be 
in at the revolution. Old William of 
Orange talked of ' dying in the last 
ditch' of his dingy country. It is 
well that I can swim, or I suppose 
that I should not well weather the 

Brownlow, who was once as furi- 
ous against the abolitionists as he is 
now furious in their favor, said in one 
of his numerous tirades against them : 
" I am not, and never have been, 
interested in the slave traffic, or im- 
mersed in the cares, advantages, or 
disadvantages of the institution of 
slavery, and therefore I claim to be a 
disinterested looker-on. A native of 
Virginia, I have lived half a century 
in the South, and seen the workings 
of the institution of slavery in its 
best and worst forms, and in all the 
Southern States. I have gone among 
the free negroes at the North, and in 
every instance I have found them 
more miserable and destitute- as a 
whole than the slave population of 
the South. In our Southern States, 
where negroes have been set at liberty, 
in nine cases out of ten their condi- 
tions have been made worse, while 
the most wretched, lazy and dishon- 
est class of persons to be found in 
the Southern States are free 2^ersons 
of color. I, therefore, go against the 
emancipation of slavery altogether, 
unless they can be sent to Liberia at 
once. I take my stand with the 
friends of the institution of slavery in 
the South. Connected with this ques- 
tion I will go as far as the next man 
— dying in the last ditch.'''' 

There are certain expressions 
which please the popular mind, and 
soon become part of its common pro- 

perty. The right ownership may 
never be known, but the people will 
always claim possession. After the 
battles of Palo Alto and Resaca, an 
anonymous writer alluding to General 
Taylor said, " The soldiers call him old 
Rough and Ready." No one in the 
army knew of this sobriquet, till they 
saw this communication. But the 
appellation pleased the soldiery and 
the country. The old hero did from 
that time forward receive a designa- 
tion which was the coining of this 
unknown scribbler. In a Republic 
his fortune is made who receives a 
popular cognomen. In "the fierce 
democracy of Rome," the adjectives 
Africanus and Asiaticus applied to the 
conqueror of Africa and Asia could 
never have aroused a wilder enthu- 
siasm among the people than has 
been excited among us by the appel- 
lations "Old Tippecanoe" and "Old 
Rough and Ready." In the latter in- 
stance, the alliteration took with the 
masses as much as the names. It 
struck the fancy like Poe's "pallid 
bust of Pallas," or Pope's "up the 
7iigh 7iill hQ /weaves the Znige round 
stone." At any rate,we doubt not that 
the anonymous correspondent of an 
obscure paper won for " Old Rough 
and Ready" (we readily accord the so- 
briquet) more than fifty thousand 
votes. He should have been reward- 
ed with a place in the Cabinet or by 
a first-class foreign embassy. Per- 
haps he was, who knows ? 

During the Confederate struggle 
the phrase "giving the last man and 
the last dollar," was attributed, we 
know not how correctlj'^, to the date 
Provisional Governor of North-Caro- 
lina. If not his, we suppose that the 
true author will hardly ever set up 
claims of ownership. 

The expression " war to the knife," 
which was used so frequently during 
the late struggle and for several years 
preceding it, has seldom received its 
true paternity. It was the answer of 
Palafox to the demand of the French 
commander. Marshal Moncey, for the 
surrender of Saragossa. This was 
not an idle bravado, but the stern 


The HaversacTc. 


determination of a brave man, who 
by his heroic resistance has caused 
the defense of Saragossa to be ranked 
with that of Saguntum and Numantia. 
It was thought at the beginning of the 
second great rebelhon that the bowie- 
knife would be as terrible in Southern 
hands as was the machete in the 
hands of the Spanish peasantry. 
But its inferiority to the deadly re- 
volver soon caused it to be discarded. 
Governor Harris of Tennessee, who 
served on the staff of General Sidney 
Johnston at the battle of Shiloh, re- 
lated an incident illustrating the 

point. A regiment from , which 

had often boasted of what prodigies 
of valor it would perform with the 
bowie-knife, broke badly under a 
withering fire of minie-balls. The 
General rode up to the shrinking, 
cowering men and cried out: "You 
have bragged about what you would 
do with the bowie-knife, and now 
when the manlier weapon is put in 
j^our hands you play the woman. If 
there is manhood in you follow me." 
He placed himself in front of the 
regiment and rode before it until the 
enemy was routed by the gallant at- 
tack. He led into action several 
regiments on that the last day of his 
heroic life. 

Shells have had a prominence in 
this war never before known, since 
the invention of gunpowder. But the 
mortar-shells used in siege have long- 
been regarded as the most dreadful 
implements of modern warfare. In 
throwing up earthworks in and 
around Yorktown in 1861-2, many 
eight and ten-inch shells were found, 
and if we remember aright, a few of 
larger calibre. Byron's description 
of a bombardment will recall lively 
recollections to the better class of 
Southern young men, the soldiers of 
the army. 

" And here and there some crackling dome 
Was fired before the exploding bomb ; 
And as the fabric sunk beneath 
The ahattering sheWs volcanic breath. 
In i-ed and wreathing columns flashed 
The flame, as loud the ruin crashed, 
Or into countless meteors driven, 
Its earth-stars melted into heaven." 

The works thrown up by the C. S. 
(called so) forces were begun at 
night under false information from 
Fortress Monroe. Lieutenant-Col- 
onel 0. C. Lee of the First North- 
Carolina regiment acted as the en- 
gineer officer on the occasion ; and 
it is remarkable that without having 
made a previous reconnoissance in 
daylight, and with no maps or traces 
of old works to guide him, he fell 
upon the identical line of fortifica- 
tions used by Cornwallis. A differ- 
ent and more extended line, upon a 
more elaborate plan, was afterward 
adopted. But upon the approach of 
McClellan, the wisdom of the British 
engineers was fully acknowledged, 
and the old line was reoccupied. 

What a tribute it was to the 
genius of the young officer who had 
made so happy a selection of ground 
in the darkness of the night ! Alas ! 
that one so full of promise, so brave, 
so gentle, so noble, and so generous 
in all his impulses, should have per- 
ished so early in the contest. 

How many recollections come clus- 
tering arovmd us at the name of 
Yorktown — some sad, some serious, 
and some curious. A few of the last 
class may interest our readers. The 
Fifth Louisiana infantry (Colonel 
Hunt commanding) landed at York- 
town in the midst of a cold rain- 
storm of unusual violence. A cap- 
tain of the regiment, with some other 
officers, sought refuge in a recently 
deserted house. His attention was 
attracted to what seemed to be his 
own handwriting, in a letter among 
a pile of loose papers on the floor. 
Picking it up, he found his own signa- 
ture, to it, but dated 1781 ! It was a 
letter from his grandfather, a native 
of an adjoining county, (Gloucester, 
we think,) who had served at the 
siege of Yorktown. If we remember 
rightly, the grandfather held the 
same rank in the old rebel army that 
his grandson held in the new. The 
finding of the letter, with all the at- 
tendant circumstances, is certainly 
one of those incidents stranger than 
fiction itself 

The daughter of a Southern officer 


The HaversacTc. 


had married a gentleman of another 
nation, lived unhappily with him, and 
parted from him, from causes suf- 
ficiently painful. The daughter re- 
turned to her father ; the husband 
tied to Mexico, and was supposed to 
have died soon after. Years passed 
away and notliing was heard from 
him. The rebellion broke out. Gen- 
eral Butler took the field and sent 
forward the troops who fought the 
first battle of the war, while he him- 
self with provident care of' the 
wounded, remained nine miles behind, 
in chivrge of the ambulance train. 
(See General B. F. Butler's Heport.) 
After the retirement of Butler's 
troops a C. S. (called so) soldier 
strolling over the battle-field found a 
kind of bowie-knife beautifully 
finished and elegantly ornamented. 
It was passed from hand to hand as 
a rare and costly piece of workman- 
ship, until it at length reached the 
hands of the father of the unfortun- 
ate lady. Judge of his surprise on 
reading the inscription on the blade 
to find that it had been presented to 
a Federal officer by his own son-in- 
law, supposed to have been long since 
dead. The name (a remarkable one) 
and place of residence left no room 
to doubt his identity. 

In thi'owing up rifle-pits on the 
morning of the fight at Bethel, a few 
bones were dug up by some Virginia 

troops. Colonel M , of Virginia, 

told the writer that he had reason to 
suppose that they belonged to some 
men under the command of his 
grandfather, who had been slain near 
that spot, together with their leader. 
Colonel M , senior, in the revolu- 
tionary war. 

On the sixth of November, 1632, 
Gustavus Adolphus defeated the 
Austrians at Lutzen. Nearly two 
hundred years afterward, on the 
second of May, 1813, Napoleon de- 
feated the same people on the same 
spot. In Austria, as in Virginia, the 
invaders were the attacking party, 
and it may have happened in both 
instances that the defenders of their 
soil turned up the bones of their 
ancestors. Passing strange are the 

facts of history. We would be glad 
to receive from some military friend 
an account of the repetitions of bat- 
tles on the same spot. We think 
that it has seldom happened in the 
same war that two battles have been 
given on the same ground, as was the 
case, during the late contest, at Man- 
assas and Fredericksbxirgh. But in 
all Wars on a grand scale there will 
be whole districts of country which 
become strategic districts, and there 
will be points in those districts 
which become strategic points. A 
great battle is fought at one of these 
points, and is followed by a long 
peace. Another war breaks out 
generations afterward, and the mili- 
tary leaders both perceive the import- 
ance of the old battle-field, and an- 
other battle is given to get possession 
of it. Napoleon had so accurate an 
eye for strategic points, that in riding 
over the field of Austerlitz, days be- 
fore the battle, he could predict a 
bloody contest would be waged there 
some day. Lombardy and the 
Netherlands may be given as ex- 
amples of strategic districts^ while 
Lutzen and Austerlitz are examples 
of strategic 'points. 

General B. F. Butler, United States 
army, was the first to use the word 
" contraband" as a designation for 
the negro, and he has, too, the honor 
of being the first to encourage that 
class of persons to desert their 
masters. It will- doubtless gratify 
him to know that the contrabands 
made themselves very useful to both 
sides. The rebels, at least, were kept 
well posted about all that occurred 
within and around Fortress Monroe. 
The number of ships that McClellan 
brought, and the strength of his 
army were reported with astonishing 
accuracy. It is certain that York- 
town knew more of Fortress Monroe, 
at this period at least, than did For- 
tress Monroe know of Yorktown. 
The opposite opinion would be a poor 
compliment to McClellan. He cer- 
tainly would have attacked on the 
first day of his arrival, before Magru- 
der's long weak line, had he known 
that there were many points of it at 


The Haversack. 


which there was not a man for hun- 
dreds of yards. There is reason to 
believe that Magruder kept Butler 
amused for more than a year with 
false information conveyed through 
intelligent contrabands, while his 
own intelligence was accurate in the 
minutest degree. The rebel tricks 
pla3'^ed off by means of negroes at 
the beginning of the war would be 
suflSciently curious ; but the time 
has hardly come for these revelations 
to be made. But even when "the 
instinct of freedom was true," the 
news brought by the intelligent con- 
traband must sometimes have 
seemed very strange. An ofiBcer of 
McClellan's staif told the writer, dur- 
ing a flag of truce, an amusing in- 
stance of this. 

After Beauregard's retreat from 
Corinth, McClellan was much ex- 
ercised in mind lest he should come 
to the relief of Lee. A statement to 
that effect had been published in our 
papers. Other papers denounced 
the imprudent revelation and said 
some wise things about the import- 
ance of reticence. McClellan as a 
military man knew this was the 
move that ougJit to he made, and he 
believed it 7ia,d leen made. However, 
to make sure on this point, he de- 
termined to examine, in person, an 
intelligent contraband, just brought 
into his lines direct from Richmond. 

General M. Is Beauregard in Rich- 
mond ? 

J. C. Oh ! yes, Masser. 

General M. How many soldiers did 
he have with him ? 

J. C. Hundred tousand, tree tou- 
sand, fifty tousand ! Cars heaped 
up with sogers, ebery day two, tree 

General M. Are you sure that 
Beauregard is there himself? 

J. 0. Oh ! yes, him make a speech 
at de Capitol, hear Mass Letcher 
call him General Boregar. 

The news was sutficiently confirm- 
atory of McClellan's worst fears, and 
the intelligent contraband saw plainly 
that he had " made a sensation " — 
the thing of all others the most flat- 
tering to the negro. At length some 
one thought of testing still further 
the intelligent contraband's accuracy 
and the examination was renewed. 

Q. Did you see General Beaure- 
gard yourself? 

A. Oh ! yes, Masser ! me see him 
for sartin. 

Q. What sort of looking man is 

A. Him great big fat man, tomack 
tick out so, (putting his hands two 
feet in front of his stomach.) 

This was too much for the gravity 
of McClellan, who laughed heartily 
with his fears all relieved. 

Beauregard's leanness was too 
well known for the credibility of the 
contraband's story. It appeared af- 
terward that the poor fellow had mis- 
taken the portly Price (who hap- 
pened to be in Richmond about that 
time) for the celebrated engineer. 
The fifty tousand, tree tousand, hun- 
dred tousand, were the troops of 
Holmes and Huger from North-Caro- 
lina and Norfolk. 


It has often happened in the his- 
tory of wars that the respective belli- 
gerents have called the same battle- 
field by different nameS; Thus, the 
Blenheim of the British is the Hoch- 
stadt of the Germans ; the Glades- 
muir of the Scotch is the Preston 
Pans of the English. But the late 
rebellion has brought out distinct 
characteristics of the two hostile sec- 

tions, which has never been before so 
remarkably exhibited in the nomen- 
clature of battles. 

Where it has been possible to do 
so, the North has used the name of 
some object in nature, a stream, a 
mountain, a landing-place, a forest, 
etc. The South has shown a prefer- 
ence for artificial objects, a railway 
station, a city, town, etc. The one 


The Haversach. 


speaks of Bull Run, (a brook ;) the 
other of Manassas, (a railway station ;) 
the former of Ball's Bluff ; the lat- 
ter of Leesbvirgh, (a village ;) the 
former of Stone's River, the latter of 
Murfreesboro, (a town ;) the former of 
Mill Creek, the latter of Somerset, (a 
town ;) the former speak of the bat- 
tle of Pittsburgh Landing; the latter 
call it the battle of Shiloh, (a church ;) 
the former speak of the battle of 
South-Mountain, the latter, ofBoons- 
boro, (a village;) the former, of the 
battle of Antietam, (a brook ;) the 
latter, of Sharpsburgh, (a village ;) the 
former, of the battle of the Chicka- 
hominy, (a stream ;) the latter, of 
Cold Harbor, (a tavern ;) the former, 
of the battle of Marye's Hill, the lat- 
ter, of Fredericksburgh, etc., etc. 
Out of the 250 battles of the war, 
those of real importance have, as a 
general thing, been differently desig- 
nated ; and had the Confederacy been 
established, endless confusion would 
have been the result. 

But the history of the conquerors 
will be received as the history of the 
war, and of course their names will 
most likely be transmitted to poster- 
ity. On the other hand, as the battle- 
fields have been generally on South- 
ern soil, the tourist will naturally 
vise the designation by which the 
battle-field is known with the people 
in the neighborhood. These opposite 
influences may keep up the confusion 
for a long time. 

It is curious to notice that the dif- 
ference alluded to is to be observed 
even in the names given to the re- 
spective armies. 

The North employed the names of 
rivers and had the army of the Poto- 
mac, the army of the James, the army 
of the Ohio, the army of the Cum- 
berland. The South used the artifi- 
cial divisions of States, and had the 
army of Northern Virginia, the army 
of Tennessee, the army of Mississip- 
pi, etc. Now, it is simply absurd to 
say that the difference has l^een ac- 
cidental. It points to a difference in 
the mode of thought. We have a 
theory on the subject, which is par- 
tially satisfactory to ourselves, but 

before giving it, we would rather hear 
from some of our mental philoso- 

If inclined to be too partial to Irish 
humor, it must be excused on account 
of an Ii'ish origin. 

After the battle of Leesburgh, two 
Irish Federals were brought into the 
hospital of the kind-hearted Dr. 
Mott, who always was attentive and 
faithful to the wounded in his charge, 
whether friend or foe. 

One of them was almost in an 
unconscious condition, having been 
shot through the breast, and was 
supposed to be mortally wounded. 
The other poor fellow had been 
struck about the eyes, and was hope- 
lessly blind. The former we will call 
Tim Mahoney ; the latter. Jack Flan- 

After a few days, hopes were en- 
tertained of Tim, but as he never 
opened his lips in either murmur or 
request, the surgeon was much puz- 
zled about him. Judge of his sur- 
prise, then, on being accosted in a 
distinct voice, by the half-dying man, 
" Docther, is there iver a chap here 
by the name of Jack Flannegan ?" 
"Yes, he is in the next ward." 
" Has he got a bit of a pipe we him?" 
" No, he has not got a pipe." To the 
amazement of the Doctor, the man 
got up, wrapped his sheet around 
him, and started off, saying, " Doctor, 
I must see Jack." The Doctor helped 
him to the next ward. 

Then began " the sweet Irish 
brogue," which so charmed General 
Scott, when a candidate for the Pre- 
sidency. " Howdo youfale, Jack, me 
boy?" " Is that you, Tim ?" "Yes, 
when I last see you. Jack, my boy, 
you were smoking yer pipe." 

" What were you after that for, 
Jack ?" 

" Well, you see, Tim, I had niver 
been in a rale fight v/id bullets, and 
I was kind o' wake about my stomach, 
and a bit of a smoke made me fale 
good unc^gr the ould flag wid the stars 
and stripes." " And where's yer 
pipe. Jack?" " It war knocked out 
of me mouth sure, when I got that 


The Haversack. 


divil of a lick in me eye. I war look- 
ing at the ould flag, when all at wunst 
I see all the stars in the shy, and niver 
a hit of a stripe." 

In the May number it was stated 
that General Lee, being apprised of 
McClellan's intention to make a for- 
ward movement from Harper's Ferry 
in the latter part of October, 1862, 
had broken up suddenly the right 
wing of his army under Longstreet, 
and thrown it forward to Culpeper 
C. H. to wait the arrival of the enemy. 
Jackson with the left wing remained 
behind to remove the sick, the wound- 
ed, and the stores from Winchester. 
As they had all to be transported on 
the pike, every ambulance and al- 
most every wagon was pressed into 
service. A. P. Hill and Early were 
posted so as to guard the crossings of 
the Shenandoah and the approaches 
to Winchester. Stuart with his ca- 
valry crossed the river, and planted 
himself before McClellan, to delay his 
march as much as possible. 

Another of Jackson's infantry di- 
visions crossed over also, but with 
strict orders not. to hazard an engage- 
ment. It was directed to make a 
show of holding the gaps in the Blue 
Ridge and to protect Stuart, should 
he be too closely pressed. Then 
commenced that series of movements 
so graphically described by Colonel 
Von Borcke, of Stuart's staff, in the 
January and February numbers of 
Blackwood's Magazine. The gallant 
Colonel has brought to his work vivid 
powers of description, but he has in- 
tended to give an honest, truthful 
picture. Nor do we think that his 
genuine admiration of his chief has 
betrayed him into ah over-estimate 
of Stuart's courage, skill, and genial 
qualities. But we think that in this 
instance he has too highly colored 
the services rendered by the cavalry. 
That arm of the Confederate service 
had not yet learned to do close, earn- 
est fighting, like the infantry. That 
lesson was learned subsequently vm- 
der Stuart himself, and very effect- 
ually under Hampton. But the losses 
in the cavalry would at no time com- 

pare with those in the artillery, still 
less in the infantry. Individual bri- 
gades and divisions sulfered at times 
heavily. But take the whole Confe- 
derate cavalry and place its losses by 
the side of that of an equal body of 
infantry, we doubt whether it would 
be one fifth so great, perhaps not so 
much. In this particular case, poor 
Pelham, with his artillery and with 
the pieces loaned him from the infan- 
try division, did most of the cavalry 
fighting. When his guns were si- 
lenced by the opposing artillery or by 
the pressing forward of the enemy's 
sharp-shooters, he retired and the ca- 
valry retired with him, or rather be- 
fore him, he covering the retreat. In 
fact this is, in the main. Colonel Von 
Borcke's own history of this famous 
retreat. On the afternoon of the 3d 
November, Captain Hardaway, of Ala- 
bama, placed a single Whitworth on 
a hill near Paris, and with it routed 
a Federal brigade and a battery of 
artillery. Colonel Von Borcke men- 
tions this fact, but forgets that this 
gun came from the infantry division. 

'Twas the same oflBcer and the 
same piece which drove the gun- 
boats out of the Rappahannock at 
Port Royal. Other guns were em- 
ployed, but this one did the work. 
Colonel Von Borcke is in error in at- 
tributing this to Pelham, who only 
fired upon the boats as they were es- 
caping. At some other time we will 
notice this mistake, and ^show that 
the heroism of Pelham on this occa- 
sion was even greater than his friend 
the Colonel svipposed. 

After the fall of Upperville and 
Paris, it was thought necessary to 
withdraw the infantry from Ashby's 
Gap, as a road led to its rear by the 
way of the Trap, which was occupied 
by McClellan's force. The division 
was marched back to Berry's Ferry, 
at that time fordable, and was met 
there by General Jackson in person, 
who directed it to be marched up the 
river and occupy Manassas Gap, the 
next gap in the Blue Ridge south of 

A small picket was placed on the 
Trap road, the division marched on, 

208 The Haversack [July, 

General Jackson taking its com- sy about you; thought that the Yanks 
niander with him, and a single cour- had caught you. I am so glad to 
ier, rode back to the top of the Blue see you safe ! I am John Simpson, 
Ridge to make a reconnoissance of the Company A, 3d Alabama, Rode's Bri- 
cnemy's movements. There was not gade ; this is AVilliani Nicholls, same 
a single one of our soldiers between company and regiment. These moun- 
him and the enemy, and he might taineers are too hard upon poor sol- 
rcadily have been "picked up by a diers ; made us pay five dollars Con- 
scouting-party. But he was in the ha- fed for this little bee-gum ; want- 
bit of doing things in that way. It was ed a dollar in gold; haven't seen 
after sunset when they returned to a gold dollar in twelvemonths." Rat- 
Berry's Ferry and intensely cold with tling on thus without stopping until 
the ice rapidly forming in the river, the first dark strip of woods was 

General Jackson crossed over to reached, when suddenly John Simp- 
the left bank of the river, leaving the son and William Nicholls and bee- 
other officer to follow his division up hive disappeared. '"Twas well told, 
the right bank. He was delayed any how," multei'ed the officer riding 
some half-hour in removing his pick- on to his tent. 

et, and then, to his horror, beheld in Just at sunrise next morning, a 
the growing dusk a body of men ap- rough mountaineer stalked into camp, 
proach the river on the opposite bank, " General, two of your men took a 
and without a moment's hesitation bee-gum from me last night." "Oh! 
plunge into the ford. His heart sunk yes, John Simpson and William 
within him, thinking that they were NicboUs, 3d Alabama, but they paid 
a body of the enemy who had pushed you five dollars for it?" "Nary a 
back A. P. Hill or Early, had crossed red; they said they were Smith and 
at the lower fords and most likely Jones of the 100th Georgia regiment, 
captured General Jackson himself, and that you wanted some honey, as 
immediately after he reached the old Stonewall was going to take sup- 
other bank. He soon saw, however, per with j^ou." " Courier, tell Co- 

that they were not armed as they lonel F to send John Simpson 

waded to the right bank, and he and William Nicholls here." Cou- 

waited their arrival. " Who are rier returns. " Colonel F says 

you?" "We are from Alabama, that there are no such men in his 
going to join Rode's Brigade." regiment." "I suppose that the 
" Are you conscripts ?" "No, next concern of John Simpson and Wil- 
thing to it though, we run from it, liam Nicholls for my safety was 
'twasabout to catch us." The speaker about on a par with their desire to 
was engaged all the time in shaking give old Stonewall a good supper." 
the dripping water off his clothes, and Manassas Gap was reached that 
then once more addressing his inter- morning by a pOrtion of Rode's Bri- 
rogator, he said, " I tell you, stranger, gade in time to prevent its occupation, 
this water an't biled, it an't !" and to permit some of our cavalry 

Directing the shivering yet merry from the rear to pass through on their 
fellows how to find the brigade, the way to join Stuart, who himself had 
officer rode on with his courier. They passed through there the night be- 
harl got six or eight miles when a fore. If our memory is not at fault, 
sudden bend in the road revealed a portion and perhaps all of Hamp- 
hundreds of bright fires glowing ton's fine brigade crossed the Blue 
cheerilj'^ in the frosty night air. Just Ridge here. The division encamped 
then two men carr3'ing a bee-hive that day (Nov. 5th) at Front Royal, 
came into the road from a path made famous by being the place 
coming down from the mountains, where Jackson first struck the out- 
" Who are you? What regiment do posts of Banks. A courier brought 
you belong to ?" " Is that you. Gen- in a note from Hampton about noon, 
eral? the boys were getting very unea- referring to an impending fight at 


English Farmers. 


Barber's Cross Roads, and requesting 
that all parties from the rear should 
be turned back to go through the 
next most southern gap. That night 
a citizen came in reporting that 
Hampton's Brigade had greatly dis- 
tinguished itself, had suffered con- 
siderably, and that Stuart had con- 
tinued his retreat. Feeling sure that 
McClellan's infantry was now suf- 
ficiently near to force Manassas Gap 
early the next morning, the officer 
for whose safety the bee-hunters had 
felt so much solicitude, started be- 
fore day to see the withdrawal of the 
troops from it, before they should get 
seriously engaged. Just as he reach- 
ed the main body of the out-posts, 
some pieces opened upon a body of 
the enemy advancing up the rail- 
road. They were driven back. As 
the morning was bitterly cold, the 
oflBcer dismounted and walked alone 
to the picket, some quarter of a mile 
in advance. Seeing that the officer 
was young and inexperienced, and 
that he had chosen a position com- 
pletely commanded by a densely 
wooded knoll on the right, he began 
to ask some questions about the 
ground and the posting of the men. 
The lieutenant was from that part of 

, where the uneducated drawl 

out their words and emphasize the 
last syllable as in regiment, content- 
ment, reenforcement, etc. " Have 
you any men on the hill, Lieuten- 
ant?" "Oh! yes, sir, I have men 
there." " The enemy seems to be 
quiet in front." "Yes, sir." " I only 
see two regiments." " The rest of 
them are making a flank movement." 
"Are you sure of it?" "I counted 
four hundred crossing the railroad 
and going toward the woods on our 
right." "You have men there, you 
say?" "Oh ! yes, sir, I have a corpo- 
ral and three men, and the corporal 
says that he wants remforcementsy 

" Very well, Lieutenant, delay 
them as long as you can without 
getting yourself into a scrape. / Ite- 
lieve tliat I will go liackr The officer 
started off at a brisker pace than he 
came ; but he had gone but a few steps 
when a volley, a loud cheer, and the 
hurried tramping of feet announced 
that the gallant corporal, having 
failed to get his reenforcements, was 
making the best possible speed out of 
the woods. 

The four hundred men were cheer- 
ing over their brilliant feat of captur- 
ing the hill. 


John Reade, a gardener, was the 
inventor of the cylindrical clay pipes, 
which have wrought the " third revo- 
lution" in England and Scotland, by 
draining. Mr. Parkes showed one of 
these pipes to Earl Spencer, saying : 
" My Lord, with this pipe I will 
drain all England." This was at the 
Derby show of the Royal Agricul- 
tural Society, and the council gave 
John Reade a silver medal for his idea. 
Draining enabled the owners of re- 
tentive soils to follow the system of 
sheep-folding and root-crops, and on 
these drained soils, now laid dry and 

friable, sheep-stock flourished where 
formerly a few dairy c&ws starved. 

When the father of Mr. George 
Turner, of Barton, Devon, began to 
drill turnips, a well-to-do neighbor 
looked down from the dividing bank 
and said to his son: "I suppose your 
father will be sowing pepper out of a 
cruet next." Indeed, the whole his- 
tory of the turnip cultivation shows 
the difference between the spirit of 
the past and the present. It took 
more than a century to establish the 
proper growth of the crop, notwith- 
standing that the wealth of meat and 

* Continued froni June number. 

VOL. I.— NO. III. 



English Farmers. 


grain which proceeded was so strik- 
ingly manifest. The first diflBculty 
was to get farmers to try it at all ; 
the second was to get them to be at 
the expense of hoeing. Arthur 
Young said they listened with in- 
credulity when he told them of the 
vast benefits derived in Norfolk from 
this indispensable process. The third 
difficulty was to induce them to sub- 
stitute drilling for broadcast sowing, 
Avhich appeared to them as ridiculous 
as peppering the land from a cruet. 

Lord Bacon, who had a large col- 
lection of works upon agriculture, 
had them, one day, piled up in the 
court-yard, and set on fire ; for, said 
he, " In all these books, I can find no 
principles; they can, therefore, be of 
no use to any man." This was just 
the deficiency with respect to drain- 
age, and it could not, therefore, pro- 
gress. Josiah Parkes expounded 
the principles of drainage, and made 
suggestions which led to the manu- 
facture of the steel tools which were 
necessary for forming the deep cut- 
tings, and the cheap pipes necessary 
for carr)'ing the water from them 
when formed. 

In 1833, when Mr. Parkes was en- 
gaged in draining a peat bog, in -Lan- 
cashire, he had an opportunity of 
seeing the great effect produced by 
deep cuttings, and he was led to pon- 
der on the advantages of relieving 
the soil of a certain number of inches 
of water, which is stagnant during 
the rainy season, -and remains until 
removed by evaporation or a dry sea- 
son. By experiments continued for 
several years, he found that a deep 
drain began to run after wet weather, 
not from the water above, but from 
the water rising from the subterranean 
accumulations below, and that, by 
drawing away the stagnant moisture 
from the three or four feet of earth 
next the surface, it was rendered fri- 
able, easier to work, more penetrable 
by the rain, which then carried down 
air and manure, and much warmer 
and more suitable for the nourish- 
ment of the roots of 'the crops. He 
came to the conclusion that shallow 
draining, recommended by Smith of 

Deanston, was a vital error, and that 
four feet^ which left a sufficient layer 
of dry, warm surface earth, after al- 
lowing for the rise of the moisture by 
capillary attraction above the water 
level of the drain, should be the 
minimum depth. The first field 
drained on the four-foot plan was on 
a farm near Bolton. This was the 
small beginning' of the subterranean 
net-work of pipes which has more 
than doubled the value of retentive 
soils in England. And here is one of 
the principles which Bacon could not 

Sir Robert Peel, whose manage- 
ment of his own estate made him 
thoroughly alive to the national im- 
portance of well-drained soils, passed 
the Act in 184G, by which four mil- 
lions sterling were appropriated to- 
ward assisting land-owners with 
loans for draining their land, with 
leave to pay the advance by install- 
ments extending over twenty-two 
years. A second public loan of four 
millions was granted in 185C, and it 
has been estimated that sixteen mil- 
lions had been invested by the nation 
and by private companies and indi- 
viduals, in thorough drainage. All 
the branches of farming business felt 
the influence ; for the improved stock 
originated by Bakewell, the artificial 
food raised to feed the improved stock, 
and improved implements of every 
kind, all met with an extended de- 
velopment in the retentive soils ren- 
dered kindly by the use of " Parkes' s 
clay pipes." It will usually be found 
that an advance in one direction gives 
a corresponding impulse in every 

We now copy from the Edinburgh 
Review : 

" Lord Hatherton's estate at Tcd- 
desley, in Staffordshire, thirty years 
ago, was in a most neglected state ; 
great part of it a worthless waste, 
without roads, undrained, open, and 
exposed. It is now a rich fertile do- 
main, carrying luxuriant crops of 
wheat and barley, the pastures folded 
over with flocks of South-Down 
sheep, the extensive farm buildings 
filled with cattle, while the lower 


English, Farmers. 


slopes are covered by verdure pro- 
duced by irrigation. 

"Such authenticated statements as 
these demonstrated that the drain- 
pipe, the manure-cart, and the sheep's 
foot, exerted a fairy influence over 
the productive powers of the soil, 
doubling it in a period of ten or 
twenty years." 

When this fact is brought to bear 
upon the exhausted soils of the 
Southern States, then there will be 
some hope for us as an agricultural 
people. To renovate our soil is of 
more importance to us than any other 
national interest. Mining and manu- 
facturing, important as they may be, 
are far inferior to the great business 
of agriculture. 

Of the three modes of renovating, 
we would call particular attention to 
what the writer denominates the 
" sheep's foot." In England, a farm- 
er's thrift is judged of by the num- 
ber of sheep he keeps in proportion 
to his amount of land. These sheep 
are folded on roots, clover and other 
fields, with portable fences, which 
are moved frequently. Thus, al- 
though the animals are closely con- 
fined, they are never confined to one 
spot, but are constantly changed. A 
new farmer will buy food for his 
sheep until they themselves enrich 
his land sutflciently to yield food for 
them and their owner, and a large 
surplus to be turned into cash. The 
average wages of a farm laborer in 
England are about ten dollars a 
month. The practical farmer pays 
this amount for his laborers, besides a 
' high rent for his land, and yet makes 
money even when the market price 
of wheat is only 40s. a quarter, or a 
dollar and a quarter a bushel. Pay- 
ing for their land and labor at these 
rates, and selling their produce at 
this profit, what Southern farmer 
need fear to follow their example ? 

Colonel Croome, of Greensboro, 
showed conclusively that " stock- 
farming" (which in England, is a 
synonym for "high farming ") is not 
incompatible with cotton -growing. 
"With the aid of clover, he raised 
immense quantities of beef, mutton, 

and dairy products, without at all 
interfering with the profitable cotton 

England has three times the num- 
ber of sheep per acre that France 
has. And moreover, the English 
sheep, when slaughtered, weigh 
eighty pounds of net meat per head, 
while those of France yield only 
forty pounds of net meat, so that 
England really produces six times 
the amount of mutton per acre that 
France does. 

The difference between the prac- 
tice of an English farmer, and that 
of a French metayer^ or of a Belgian 
peasant proprietor, is equally strik- 
ing. The main olDJect of the latter 
is to feed his family and avoid every 
possible payment in cash. "As for 
laying out sixpence on manure, or 
cattle-food for making manure, no 
such notion ever crosses the minds 
of these industrious, hard - living 
peasants, and the decrease in the 
means of subsistence, in consequence, 
is almost past calculation. Among 
English farmers, on the contrary, 
the maxim is, " He who puts most 
into his land, gets most out of it." 
And the result is that the earth is 
ransacked to furnish fertilizers for 
the English market — guano from 
Peru and the Pacific isles, bones 
from the boundless prairies of Bra- 
zil, oil-cake from Russia and Ger- 
many, beans from Egj^pt, and locust- 
pods from Syria. His farm becomes 
like a manufactory. He puts so 
much capital in, and he expects and 
realizes so much return. 

Another great step forward in 
British agriculture is the successful 
introduction of the steam - plow. 
There are now hundreds of these 
machines at work in England and 
Scotland. There are three forms of 
these plows, or machines — Fowler's, 
Howard's, and Smith's, and Mr. 
Algernon Clark's able report entitled 
Five Years' Progress in Steam Cul- 
ture, shows that they will probably 
effect a "fourth revolution" in farm- 
ing — at least upon clay soils. Mr. 
Clark says many steam-farmers, by 
their own showing, have augmented 


Adele St. Maur. 


their produce by four to eight bush- 
els per acre ; have grown roots where 
no roots before could be grown ; 
have largely increased the bulk of 
their green crops ; and at the same 
time cleared hundreds of pounds per 
annum by the mere difference be- 
tween the expenses of steam and 
animal tillage. Under steam culture, 
unyielding soils become friable, and 
soon admit of turnip culture and 
sheep folding. The benefits of drain- 
ing, too, become strikingly apparent 
when the subsoil has been disturbed 
by the steam-driven share. The 
farmer having no plow-horses to 
feed, can afford to spend freely in 
manures. And he finds that the 
deeper he stirs the soil, the more the 
earth will open, and impart to him 
her fertility. 

The steam-plowing machine has 
not succeeded in the United States ; 
but if we will but follow the example 

of our British brothers in other re- 
spects, we can afford to dispense with 
it. Whoever lives within reach of a 
railway, can afford to fertilize his 
land with the manure-cart, (although 
its contents come from Peru or Bra- 
zil,) the drain-pipe, and the sheep^s 
foot. The latter we particularly 
recommend. Buy the sheep, and 
luT/ their food, until your lands be- 
come rich. There are many forms of 
portable or hurdle fences, which any 
one interested may examine. They 
are cheap, easily constructed, and 
easily moved. We hope, ere long, 
agricultural fairs will again bring the 
farmers together ; and this is one of 
the most efficient modes of improv- 
ing agriculture — by improving agri- 
culturists; who will make the land 
we love " even as the garden of the 
Lord, like the land of Egypt, as thou 
comest unto Zoar." 



The fertile valley below Castle 
Inglis had once belonged to the 
wealthy and powerful lords of the 
castle. But they had lost acre by 
,acre, generation after generation, un- 
til the rocky mountain-side wdth its 
terraced isle of verdure was all that 
remained of the once broad domain. 
Ellen's father had in fact become so 
impoverished, that for many years 
he resided upon the continent be^- 
cause he had not the means of sup- 
porting the state of his large estab- 
lishment. Lady Inglis, however, had 
inherited an annuity which enabled 
her to liv£, not only in comfort, but 
to maintain the elegance and exercise 
the hospitality in some degree of 
ancient days. Respected and be- 
loved by a large circle of the best 
and noblest in the land, it was sel- 
dom that Castle Inglis was without 
a guest. Adele used to say that 

next to Lanstead Abbey, she loved 
Castle Inglis, and next to Castle 
Inglis, she loved Inglis manse. 

But the happy summer soon came 
to a close. Sir Alfred's presence was 
needed in London by the first of 
October, on a matter of business, 
and Dr. Inglis was going thither to 
purchase his annual supply of books. 
Alfred would meet them there, and 
Mrs. Cecil had a sister living there, 
whom she was most anxious to visit. 

Aunt Edith and Ellen i^romised 
to spend the coming Christmas at 
Lanstead, which reconciled Adele to 
parting with them, although a few 
tears loould come when Aunt Edith's 
last kiss was pressed upon ber brow. 

Alfred was in London some weeks 
before his grandfather arrived. He 
was staying at the town house of his 
friend and college chum, Charlie 
Molyneux. One dreary foggy morn- 


Adele St. Maur. 


ing, the two young men were loung- 
ing over their breakfast, and making 
plans for the day. 

" I can not go with you to Rich- 
mond to day," said Mowbray; "I 
am expecting my grandfather at one 

" Very dutiful grandson you are," 
said Molyneux, "and by an odd co- 
incidence, I am expecting my grand- 
mother on the morning train from 
Brighton, but I go to Richmond 

" I am also expecting a dear little 
cousin, Adele St. Maur, and I am 
exceedingly anxious to see her." 

"Ah!" said Molyneux. "I am 
expecting no cousin of mine, therefore 
I will console myself by expecting 
yours. St. Maur ! Do you know 
I have been studying the St. Maurs 
ever since I was in the Crimea. I 
believe I know every St. Maur in the 
United Kingdom, and I have not yet 
found the object of my search. I 
saw such a lovely little girl named 
St. Maur, on board of a steamer; she 
was asleep and her face was so 
sweet, so angelic, that I took a sketch 
of her. And every time I try to 
picture to myself my future wife, 
the face of that child is before me. 
My grandmother, mother, and aunts 
are almost dying to see me married, 
but I can not find my beau-ideal, 
and I can not fall in love with any 
one who falls short of it." 

Alfred's face was flushed, and he 
sat trying to balance his tea-spoon on 
the edge of his cup. 

" I should like to see the drawing 
of your beau-ideal." 

Molyneux produced a -port-folio, 
and took therefrom a sketch of a 
sleeping child. 

"Is that your cousin ?" asked he 
laughing, yet eagerly anxious to 

" It's very like her," said Alfred, 
trying to appear indifferent, yet evi- 
dently nervous and embarrassed. 

" Then I shall not go to Rich- 
mond," said Molyneux ; " but look 
here, man — perhaps the ground is 
preoccupied. I should be sorry to 
interfere with your plans." 

"Pshaw!" said Mowbray, "my 
cousin is a mere child — she has just 
entered her teens — she will marry 
somebody ten years younger than 
either you or I." 

" May be so," said Molyneux 
glancing at a mirror opposite; "I 
shall not be very old, however, ten 
years hence." 

But the party did not come on 
that day's train, nor the next, nor 
the next. 

They came at length, however, and 
took rooms at the A ■. One even- 
ing, after returning from some ex- 
cursion, Adele, in springing from the 
carriage, noticed a gentleman, almost 
beside the carriage-door, whom she 
took to be her cousin Alfred. She 
caught his arm and said : "0 
Alfred ! how much you have missed. 
We have had such a charming day ! " 

Coloring, j^et thrilling at the touch 
of those little gloved fingers, the 
gentleman replied : " Your cousin 
ha^ gone out boating, but ought to 
be back by this time. Allow 
me — " 

" Ah Mr. Molyneux ! most happy 
to see you," said Sir Alfred ; " my 
giddy little girl mistook you for 
Alfred. Pray come in, and tell me 
about yourself and mamma. I have 
not seen you since you left Oxford." 

Adele ran up the steps with glow- 
ing cheeks, too much abashed to 
look at the stranger. She passed 
the drawing-room door and swept on 
up the stair-case, at the top of which 
she met Mrs. Cecil. 

" Why, my child, what a brilliant 
color you have ! What is the mat- 

' "0 Mrs. Cecil ! I mistook a 
strange gentleman for Alfred, and 
caught hold of his arm to talk to 
him. What will he think of me ?" 

" He will only think you have 
made a mistake, darling. But it will 
be a lesson to you, to be more care- 
ful in future. Who was the gentle- 
man ?" 

" Grandpapa called him Mr. Moly- 
neux, and he was standing on the 
pavement, just as Alfred does when 
he is expecting us." 


Adele St. Maur. 


"So your grandpapa knew the 
gentleman ?" 

" Oh ! 3"es, and seemed very glad 
to see him." 

When the ladies went down to 
dinner, Mr. Molyneux was still en- 
gaged in animated conversation with 
Sir Alfred, and they found, had ac- 
cepted Sir Alfred's invitation to din- 
ner. He had started out to dine 
with his grandmother when he stop- 
ped to see the original of his treas- 
ured drawing, whom he recognized 

Adele soon forgot her embarrass- 
ment, and when Alfred returned, 
was as gay as a butterfly. The 
petted darling of the whole house- 
hold, she played, laughed, and sang, 
as children do in an atmosphere of 

Sir Alfred almost idolized her ; 
Mrs. Cecil said she was the greatest 
pleasure of her life, and Alfred loved 
her better even than his favorite 
horse Lancer, and that was saying a 
great deal. 

Mr. Molyneux soon became rather 
inattentive to what Sir Alfred was 
saying, notwithstanding his great de- 
sire to appear interested, and his re- 
plies were sometimes so at random, 
that the old gentleman was annoyed 
and surprised. 

Mrs. Cecil, with her ever ready 
tact, joined in the conversation, and 
soon restored its pleasant flow, al- 
lowing the young man to indulge in 
his own thoughts and observations. 

Before Mr. Molyneux took his 
leave,, he and Alfred planned a visit 
to the National (Jallery, with Mrs. 
Cecil, Sir Alfred, and Adele, the next 

The morning was as bright and 
beautiful as mornings ever are in 
London, and the party had a very 
entertaining hour. In passing through 
a door- way, they met an elegant-look- 
ing party, and were quietly moving 
on, when Adele's attention was 
caught by the slender, girlish figure 
of a loiterer of the party, who was 
looking at a bust of Milton. 

"Come, Adele," called Alfred. 

" Wait, dear Mrs. Cecil, one mo- 

ment — I must see who this lady is — 
I think it is — yes !" a cry of joy 
escapes her lips — " it is Sarah Benja- 

When they parted on the street, 
Adele had exacted the promise that 
Sarah and Eva would come and 
spend the day with them. 

Adele was delighted to hear Mrs. 
Cecil praise the beauty and elegant 
appearance of her young friends, but 
thought herself that Sarah looked 
strangely ill — pale and almost hag- 

^-5= When the girls came to see her, 
she took Sarah to her room, leaving 
Eva to be entertained by Mrs. Cecil. 
They talked of things that usually 
interest girls of their age ; but Adele 
became more and more- convinced 
that some great change had taken 
place in Sarah. That spiritual dull- 
ness which 'she before observed w'as 
all gone — no mystic vail enveloped 
the soul now, if the soul could be 
seen through the face. 

But there was now almost too 
much feeling expressed in the dark 
restless eyes — for restless and un- 
happy she seemed. 

Adele at last said : " I have been 
praying for you, Sarah, daily, since 
I left Venice, that you might become 
a Christian." 

Sarah attempted to reply, but her 
lips quivered with agitation. 

Adele continued, as she threw her 
arms around her friend's neck : 
"Sarah, I feel — I know that you be- 
lieve in our Saviour, Christ." 

With a convulsive effort, Sarah 
threw off Adele's arms, and com- 
menced walking the room as she re- 
plied : 

" I do believe — I do believe — that 
Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah, 
but this belief brings me no comfort. 
After you left Venice, I determined 
to study the Bible which you gave 
me at parting, but more from a feel- 
ing of curiosity than any real desire 
to know the truth. I was already 
familiar with the Old Testament— 
the Jewish scriptures — I had been 
well instructed in them, in the He- 
brew language. And I gave my 


Adele St. Maur. 


whole mind to understand the New 
Testament. Merely as an interest- 
ing study I pursued my investiga- 
tions, until the light broke upon me. 
I saw clearly that the incarnate God 
was the grand central point to which 
our law, our prophecies, our splendid 
temple service, with its typical pas- 
chal Lamb, all pointed, in which 
they all culminated. As the law en- 
graven upon stones was enshrined in 
the ark, in the holy of holies — so 
the law enshrined in the heart of 
the God-man, M'as perfectly fulfilled, 
{ind he himself entered heaven, the 
true holy of holies, there to inter- 
cede for his sin-burdened brethren, 
for whom he had made the great sac- 
rifice. Adele!" she continued, 
"could I but believe that his mercy 
could extend to me !" 

Pale, and with corrugated brow, 
she looked almost the image of dis- 
pair. Tt was a mood terribly new to 
Adele ; from her infancy she had 
been taught to put such implicit faith 
in the love and infinite goodness of 
the divine Redeemer, that she could 
scarcely understand this great dread 
of his wrath. She knew that Dr. 
Inglis was alone in the library below, 
and she said, " Come with me, dear 
Sarah, I think I can take you to one 
who can teach yoii how mistaken 
you are in this fear." 

Sarah submitted to be led, but 
no hope gleamed in her troubled face. 
She drew back at the library door 
when she saw Dr. Inglis, but Adele 
would not relinquish her hand. 

" Come, darling," she whispered, 
"he is so kind and sympathizing, 
you can easily talk to him." 

Dr. Inglis came forward with his 

usual grave, earnest, yet sweet ex- 
pression, "Come in, my children, I 
am quite at 3''our service." 

" sir !" said Adele, with a trem- 
bling voice, " Sarah needs instruction 
in Christian — no, I mean she believes 
that our Saviour is the true Messiah, 
but she can not believe that she has 
a personal interest — " She stopped, 
not knowing how to express herself. 

But Dr. Inglis understood ; and a 
smile of jo}^, so radiant, so heartfelt, 
illumined his face. He was experi- 
enced in these doubts and fears, and 
b}^ a few gentle questions and re- 
marks, he led the full soul of the 
young girl to unburden itself. 

" My daughter, do you really de- 
sire to follow Christ?" 

" Oh ! above all other things," re- 
plied Sarah, with a burst of tears. 

"Are jon Mailing to renounce 
every thing this world contains for 
his sake?" 

She thought for a moment, and re- 
plied, "Yes, every thing." 

"Let us pray." 

While kneeling. Sir Alfred and 
Mrs. Cecil entered the room and 
knelt also, with deep emotion. When 
the prayer was over Dr. Inglis quiet- 
ly stepped to the table, and taking a 
pitcher of water from it, poured the 
crystal stream over the drooping 
head of the young girl, pronouncing 
the words of baptism. Sir Alfred 
and Mrs. Cecil looked surprised, but 
the sweet feeling of relief and hap- 
piness which overspread Sarah's face, 
as she raised her fine eyes toward 
heaven, showed that it was the true 
course to take with her. They again 
knelt in prayer, and Sarah was num- 
bered with the Christians. 


A YEAR has passed since the events womanhood. The grandfather, with 

narrated in the last chapter occurred, the placid expression of aged content, 

and we look into the long drawing- sits in his accustomed easy-chair, 

room at Lanstead Abbey. > The airy with a pile of letters on a small table 

figure of a lady sweeps with queen- beside him, which he opens succes- 

like grace throi^gh the splendid yet sively. " Here, my pet, is a letter 

quaint old room. It is our little for you," he says at length to Adele, 

Adele, grown almost to the estate of "and a voluminous epistle, if I may 


Adele St. Maur. 


judge from its size." Adele takes 
the leter and breaks the seal. Let 
'IS read with her, 

Venice, Dec. 18, 18—. 

My Dearest Adele : Your cou- 
sin, the Rev. Paul Inglis, is preach- 
ing to my people. My poor father 
will not hear him, however — his dis- 
tress at my becoming a Christian 
seems to have embittered his whole 
life. But I have a sincere faith in a 
prayer-answering God, and I have a 
sweet and confident hope that he 
will yet embrace the truth. Dear, 
dear old Leah has become the most 
trusting, child-like Christian ; yet 
still most " zealous of the law." 
Oh ! it is so beautiful to see the 
change wrought in this strong, rug- 
ged soul ; how the exclusive, nar- 
row sectarianism of a Christ-denying 
Judaism has given place to the gush- 
ing love which pities, loves, and em- 
braces all human kind. But she is 
still a Karaite Jew, to the smallest 
letter of the law. "The law has be- 
come doubly dear to me, because my 
Saviour observed it — let me follow in 
his footsteps," she says. She still 
uses the Karaite prayer-book, and 
says she never really understood it 
before.* Mr. Inglis, so far from dis- 
approving of Sarah's adherence to 
the minutiae of the law, encourages 
her in it. He says as long as we 
look to Christ alone for salvation, no 
observance of the law, moral or cer- 
emonial, will hurt us ; on the con- 
trary, every tittle of it is holy, just, 
and good. This, our elders say, is 
so different from the teachings of 
Christian missionaries heretofore sent 
among us, and is really so gratifying 
to those upon whom long habit has 
had the effect of making our own 
national customs very dear, that it 
gives him an immense advantage. 

He thinks our Saviour, so far from 
condemning the purifications, for in- 
stance, enjoined by the law, reproved 
the Pharisees for substituting the 

washing of hands for the complete 
bath. For he said, " Thus have ye 
made the command of God of none 
effect by your tradition ;" and in the 
same connection he refers to their 
exonerating children from their duty 
to their parents, on the plea that 
they are instead honoring God. (Mat- 
thew, chapter 15.) 

He says it is only when this cere- 
monial law conflicts with the law of 
love and mercy, that it is set aside. 
"Aquiba carried it to a superstitious 
extent when in prison ; and not hav- 
ing water enough to drink and also 
to bathe, preferred the latter, saying 
that it was better to die with thirst 
than transgress the tradition." 

And we are not to withdraw our- 
selves from our fellow-beings, who 
do not agree with us on these sub- 
jects, but treat them with all love 
and kindness. 

It is evident that Mr. Inglis has 
made a deep impression upon our 
elders. They allowed him to address 
us in the synagogue on last Sabbath. 
He did not preach from a single text, 
as is the custom in Christian church- 
es, but expounded a portion of Scrip- 
ture as our rabbins do. He took 
the first chapter of the gospel of St. 
John ; and as you know that we 
Jews are constantly taught in our 
synagogues' that the " Word of God" 
is the same as God; and that "by 
the Word all things were made"- — the 
first five verses were a fine begin- 
ning to argue Jews into a belief of 
the truth. He then compared these 
truths- with those of the Old Testa- 
ment, and showed the connection be- 
tween them. Adele ! I wish I 
could convey to you a faint idea of his 
thrilling eloquence and lucid exposi- 
tion of the truth. He seems to 
have at his command every passage 
of the Old Testament, as well as the 
New; and he has a way of setting 
the Gospel before you so vividly that 
there is no way of avoiding convic- 
tion. When he had finished his ad- 

* The Karaite prayer-book is composed entirely of the Scripture language of the 
Old Testament, mostly from the Psalms, and our sainted McCheyne was delighted 
with it. 


Adele St. Maur. 


dress, the whole congregation sat for 
a few moments in profound silence, 
and then one of our aged elders arose 
and said : 

"We will again search the Scrip- 
tures to ascertain whether the things 
are so. To the law and to the testi- 
mony must a Jew always go. We sin- 
cerely thank the eloquent and learn- 
ed young stranger for the interest he 
manifests in our race, and we invite 
him to remain amongst us." 

I happened to leave my prayer- 
book in the synagogue, and returned 
a few days after to get it. There I 
found twelve of our rabbins engaged 
in earnest conversation with Mr. In- 

glis, with the Scriptures before them. 
What a pleasant sight it was to me ! 
Oh ! the happiness of seeing a Hebreic 
Christian church ! Will God ever 
grant me this great blessing ? 

The remainder of the letter was 
filled with personal matters, and 
Adele fell into a long reverie after 
reading it. Sir Alfred had fallen 
asleep in his easy-chair, with a news- 
paper across his knee ; and the soft 
click of Mrs. Cecil's ivory needles, 
in a mass of zephyr-wool, of most 
delicately tinted colors, was the only 
sound which broke the stillness of 
the long drawing-room. 

CHAPTER xiir. 

So earnestly did Paul Inglis de- 
vote himself to his work that the 
twelve rabbins referred to by Sarah 
admitted the force of his arguments, 
and promised to give themselves to 
the careful study of the New Testa- 
ment. But until they had examined 
the subject, and decided it for them- 
selves, they begged him to refrain 
from endeavoring to influence them ; 
and Paul seeing that they were real- 
ly in earnest, gladly gave the re- 
quired promise, for he felt that men 
who truly desired the truth would 
surely find it. 

" Meet us here at the next Pass- 
over, and we will give you the result 
of our investigation," they said. 

The trees were clad in the soft 
green of spring ; the sweet early 
flowers were opening their perfumed 
hearts to the sun, and the fields of 
springing grain danced in the breeze ; 
all nature heralded with her beauty 
and balmy breath the approach of 
the Passover. The sun has reached 
the vernal equinox, the moon has 
reached her fullest glory, and the 
earth has put on her most beautiful 
dress to celebrate the Passover. 

At the hour of morning prayer, 
the congregation are assembled in 
the synagogue. The Jews forming 
this synagogue were all Russians, 
who had removed from that country 

to Venice from time to time. It was 
the only Karaite synagogue in the 
west of Europe, if Venice may be 
called west. So zealous had Paul 
Inglis been in instructing this in- 
teresting people, that they were re- 
ally, most of them, convinced of the 
truth of Christianity, but the rab- 
bins had asked until the Passover to 
decide. Paul knew that God's bless- 
ing had attended his labors, and 
never, in his life, had he looked for- 
ward to any thing with so much in- 
terest as to this Passover. 

At the usual hour they assemble. 
Quietly, but with deep earnestness in 
their faces, they enter. The rabbins 
take their accustomed places. 

The hour for prayer, and the gray- 
haired Ben-Israel rises. With a 
trembling voice he begins : "0 
thou great Triune Jehovah, Father, 
Son, and. Holy Spirit, we entreat thee 
to enlighten our sin-darkened souls." 

A deep sob, which seems to arise 
from the whole congregation, is heard, 
and they cast themselves upon their 
faces, as the prayer continues. Li- 
onel Benjamin alone stands erect, 
with pale face and clouded brow, yet 
listens intently to the prayer. His 
daughter Sarah and his faithful old 
friend Leah, are both engaged in fer- 
vent prayer for him. The prayer 
continues, and his lips begin to quiver, 


Adele St. Ilaur. 


and at last, quite overcome, and sob- 
bing like a child, he too sinks upon 
his knees. This act, however, was 
not so much an acknowledgment of 
faith in Christ, as a prayer for light. 
Of them all, he was the only one 
that doubted. 

It was touching now to see these 
venerable men, who had, for so long, 
been teachers themselves, consent 
humbly to take the place of disciples, 
and present themselves for baptism. 
It was a singular thing that the syna- 
gogue stood near the site of an an- 
cient Christian church, the ruins of 
which had been removed to make 
way for other buildings, but the old 
baptistery with its octagonal walls, 
still remained, although the roof was 
gone, and the floating clouds were re- 
flected in the limpid waters which 
had filled the old stone basin for cen- 
turies. More singular still, was the 
fact, that a few days previous to this 
time, an old bronze patera, of most 
antique pattern, had been dug up by 
some workmen, near the wall of the 
baptistr}^ which was supposed to 
be the vessel used for pouring the 
water upon the heads of the candi- 
dates for baptism ; and as a curiosity, 
it was buinished, and hung by the 
handle upon the inner wall of the 
octagonal building, on an iron hook, 
which appeared to have been made 
for it. Thus it seemed as if the an- 
gels themselves ministered to these 

chosen ones — and they descended, 
following their beautiful young lead- 
er, the stone steps, worn by the feet 
of ancient Christians, into the water, 
one by one, and upon their heads 
was poured the sparkling stream from 
the bronze patera. 

" The desire accomplished is sweet 
to the soul," said the wisest of men, 
and could the world liave looked into 
the heart of Paul Inglis, as he re- 
ceived these children of Abraham 
into the Church, they would have 
seen a radiant vision of joy, gratitude, 
and love, which nothing earthly could 

Only Lionel Benjamin stood aloof, 
and at his side was Sarah, who had 
already received the holj^ ordinance. 
His agitation was extreme, when his 
wife, twenty j^ears younger than him- 
self, pressed forward, looking back 
toward him, with eyes swimming 
with tears, and with little Joseph and 
Eva at her side. They were the last, 
for Mrs. Benjamin had lingered until 
the last moment, hoping her husband 
would join her. Sarah clung to his 
arm and whispered, " Dearest father, 
God will grant you light in his own 
good time;" for she saw his doubts 
and distress were very great. He 
turned his dark, troubled eyes upon 
her sweet, spirit-illumined face and 
said: "If this is truth, my darling, 
why am I alone left in darkness?" 


The next step necessary was to or- 
ganize a church, composed of these 
new converts, but here he encoun- 
tered a difficulty which he had not 
anticipated. The Jewish elders now 
gave themselves wholly to studying 
the Scriptures and the different 
creeds, articles of belief, and confes- 
sions of faith of the various Christ- 
ian churches. They listened earn- 
estly to his explanations, but their 
questions with regard to these mat- 
ters were characterized by what 
M'Cheyne called " true JewLsh acu- 
men." They hesitated, they ques- 

tioned, they objected to one thing in 
the Church of Scotland — another in 
the Church of England — as being not 
exactly sanctioned by Scripture. 

The Karaite Jews, as is well known, 
receive all the books of the Old Tes- 
tament, but reject the Talmud. They 
cling to the letter of the law, and 
this habit makes them very particu- 
lar in examining any do.ctrine. (A. 
most truthful and interesting account 
of them will be found in the Mission 
to the Jews by M'Cheyne and Bonar.) 

The word Karaites or Karaim 
means Tcxtualists, or in "barbarous 


Adele St. Maur. 


Latin," Scripturarii, and these con- 
verts now carried out their principles 
in clinging to the letter of the New 
Testament, as they had done to the 

" You must have patience with us," 
said they humbly to Inglis ; " we can 
not decide these important points in 
a day. We will give ourselves wholly 
to the study of the word, and we 
hope by the feast of Pentecost, to 
have arrived at a decision. You must 
be present in our daily readings, for 
you have been God's instrument in 
bringing us to a knowledge of the 
truth, and now in the decision of 
these minor points, (still, however, 
of great importance,) we will look to 
you for much help." The congrega- 
tion v>'aited, with prayer and humili- 
ty, to hear the decision of their elders 
— yet all studied diligently the New 

The day of Pentecost at length ar- 
rived. The elders stated to the peo- 
ple that they had all at length agreed 
on the form of church government. 

" The Confession of Faith of the 
Church of Scotland expresses our 
belief except in a few important par- 
ticulars. Their church office-bearers 
are pastors, elders and deacons. We 
can not see any authority for more 
than Udo orders of ministry — bish- 
ops, who are, under the new dispen- 
sation, what the priests were under 
the old, and deacons, who are, under 
the new dispensation, what the Le- 
vites were under the old. Our Lord 
himself took the place of the high- 
priest, and now intercedes for us. 

" And as the priests and Levites 
bore a certain numerical proportion 
to their flocks, so the bishops and 
deacons must bear a certain propor- 
tion to their flocks, and, therefore, 
the bishops are to ordain the proper 
number and always observe the di- 
rection to select faithful men, who 
will be able to teach others also. 
The bishops are to select the men 
they deem most suited for the holy 
office, and not wait for volunteers to 
present themselves. 'He who de- 
sireth the office of a bishop desireth 
a good thing,' and the wishes of all 

such are to be carefully attended to ; 
but bishops must still choose who- 
ever seems best fitted for the office, 
and no member of Christ'' s tody must 
dare to refuse the high honor thvs 
placed u2Jon him. If there is any 
calling on this earth that he loves 
more than the service of his God, he 
is not worthy of his divine Master. 
And the Hebrew Christians who have 
the brightest gifts, spiritual and men- 
tal, are the ones who are to be called 
to fill the high vocation. He who 
refuses it, unless he can give reasons 
satisfactory to the church, is to be 
regarded as unworthy the name of 

"From the third section of the nine- 
teenth chapter of the Confession of 
Faith, we also dissent. We do not 
believe that a single law of Moses is 
abrogated, excepting those relating to 
the sacrifices, which were typical, 
and therefore fulfilled in the Great 
Sacrifice. These laws relating to the 
sacrifices and the temple service were 
nailed to the cross ; the meats and 
drinks, that is, meat-oflferings and 
drink-offerings, as well as new moons, 
holy days and Sabbaths, were but 
shadows of good things to come. 

" The first Christian council assem- 
bled at Jerusalem to decide a doubt- 
ful point, decided not to teach the 
law of Moses, because '■'■Moses hath 
in every city them that preach him, 
being read in the synagogues every 
Sabbath day.''"' And the external ob- 
servance of the law, without the in- 
ward grace, was a yoke too heavy to 
be borne. But it was long after this 
that Paul declared the law holy, just, 
and good, and he says to Timothy, 
' All scripture is given by inspira- 
tion, and is profitable for doctrine, 
reproof, for correction, for ins-truction 
in righteousness.' 

"This great mistake of the ancient 
Jews, we believe to have been, mis- 
taking the laws which related to this 
life only, for laws relating to eternity. 
They believed that eating unclean 
food would corrupt their souls. Our 
Saviour taught that a man receives 
no spiritual defilement from his food ; 
yet if he violates the law of Moses, 


Adele St. -Maur. 


which, in these matters, is as unerring 
as the laws of Nature, he brings upon 
himself physical suffering. 

"We will still keep the three great 
Hebrew festivals, because we see no 
more scriptural authority for their 
abrogation than for the abrogation of 
tiie Sabbath. We will keep the Pass- 
over, in commemoration of the cruci- 
fixion of our blessed Lord. We will 
keep the feast of Pentecost, because 
on that day the Holy Spirit was given. 
"We will keep the feast of Taber- 
nacles, because we believe it typical 
of the ending of our earthly pil- 
grimage and the entering upon our 
heavenly inheritance, the house not 
made with hands, eternal in the 

"We will keep the seventh day as 
a day of profound rest and meditation, 
because on that day our Creator 
rested from the work of creation, and 
hecause oil that day our Saviour 
rested from the worh of Redemption. 
And we will keep with joy and 
thanksgiving, the Lord's day, because 
on that day our iSaviour arose from 
the dead. This day we will observe 
as a day of religious public worship, 
and as a busy day for God. 

" With these exceptions we adopt 
the constitution, form of government, 
and confession of faith of the Church 
of Scotland, while our synagogue 
worship will remain the same in ex- 
ternals, but vitalized, we trust, by 
the spirit of Christ. Our daily 
morning and evening prayer we 
will observe at the same hours of the 
morning and evening sacrifices of the 
temple ; and our bishops and deacons, 

who are to be in proportion to the 
male members of the church, as one 
to twelve, must spend their whole 
time in study in the synagogue, 
(which is to be supplied with books 
for the purpose,) and in active paro- 
chial duties. No bishop or deacon 
is to have any secular employment. 
When Paul labored as a tent-maker, 
it was in Corinth, where there was 
no organized church, whose duty it 
was to minister to his necessities. 
Our Lord hath ordained that they 
who preach the Gospel, should live of 
the Gospel, even as they who minis- 
tered in the temple, lived of the 
things of the temple. 

" On the first day of the week let 
every Christian lay by him in store 
in proportion as the Lord has pros- 
pered him. This proportion should 
never be less than a tenth, and as 
much more as any man purposeth in 
his heart; not grudgingly, for God 
loveth a cheerful giver. 

" To support her ministry is one 
of the lightest duties of the church ; 
every man can give of the abundance 
which God has given him ; but to re- 
sist the many wiles of Satan — to rule 
his own spirit — to suffer long and 
be kind — to envy not — to think no 
evil — to please not himself — in short, 
to prefer Christ to the world — this is 
what requires the whole armor of 

They decided to call themselves 
the Hebrew Christians. 

On the day of Pentecost, Mr. Ben- 
jamin was baptized, and received into 
the church. 


A happy party are assembled upon 
the lawn of the " island in the sky." 
Sarah Benjamin, in all the glowing 
beauty of nineteen summers, stands, 
looking at Adele, who has just fitted 
an arrow to a bow, and is taking aim 
at a target fixed upon the face of the 
cliff. Three gentlemen stand near, 
Alfred Mowbray, Charles Molyneux, 
and Sir John Talbot. Miss Talbot 

has just shot, and her arrow is 
quivering in the soft, gray stone, wide 
of the mark. But Adele's out-door 
education and Alfred's tuition have 
not been for nothing, and her arrow 
flew straight to the bull's eye. 
Alfred smiles with pride and pleas- 
ure, but raises his dark eyes to 
Sarah to participate in his triumph. 
Such eloquent glances are sometimes 


Adele St. Maur. 


dangerous when exchanged by a the thorough-bred gentleman. Eng- 
maiden of nineteen and a youth of lish, the rectitude of purpose — the 
twenty-three. nice sense of honor — the tenderness 

Alfred had been in great danger of and purity of all his domestic ties, 
falling in love with his cousin, but And is it strange that for three 
her open, confiding, sisterly fond- years he has loved this petted, al- 
ness for him made him feel as he most spoiled maiden, and never told 
said to Molyneux, as if any love for his love — so constantly near her, 
her, except that of a brother, was that she expects him as regularly as 
wicked. What agency the fair face her cousin Alfred ? But it is a diffi- 
of the Hebrew girl may have had in cult think to speak of love to a being 
producing this state of feeling, we like Adele. One dreads to distui'b 
can not say, but we suspect more the placid surface of a limpid lake, 
than the young Saxon would have which so peacefully reflects the sky, 
liked to admit. the clouds, the overhanging foliage, 

And somehow lately Alfred always and the white water-lilies. 
found himself cut off from Adele by Molyneux lives in the light of the 
the officiousness of Charlie Moly- beautiful spirit, with the beautiful 
neux and Sir John Tallot. If they form, and hopes some kind provi- 
rode, it was Molyneux's fiery Arabian dence will unite their destinies in 
which kept pace with Adele's petted good time. Adele has unconsciously 
Brown Bess. If they walked, Tal- learned to look and listen for him, 
hot and Molyneux both watched for and Mrs. Cecil sees that he is missed 
the coveted place at her side. Mrs. when he does not come. 
Cecil was courted by both the young Sir Alfred loves him like a son, for 
gentlemen with an assiduity which with more than the usual devotion of 
amused and gratified the good lady at a son has the young man cultivated 
the same time. And Adele? -The the good opinion of his aged friend, 
graceful sylph showed an utter in- As for Mrs. Cecil, she has become so 
difference to both ; and both might accustomed to see him at the side of 
have despaired, had not Molyneux her darling, that she never dreams 
that singleness of purpose which that "it is to be" any body else. 
never swerves from its object, and But no one ever speaks of it, and Sir 
that belief in his destiny which im- John Talbot is doing his best to pre- 
pelled him to the conviction that this vent it. 
fair girl was part of his future life. When the shooting was over, the 

Of the two candidates for her fa- little party scattered in groups. 
vor, Talbot was much the cleverer, Adele has had a fatiguing day, hav- 
much more brilliant, and generally ing walked over the mountain to see 
considered much the handsomer. a poor bed-ridden old woman, that 

But Molyneux was more of an morning, and she rests wearily upon 
Englishman. Talbot's mother was a grassy bank. ■ She is tired of even 
a Spanish lady, and he inherited her Sir John Talbot's sparkling talk, and 
Spanish face. But it was a splendid is glad when his mother sends for 
face — dark liquid eyes — olive com- him to look over some business let- 
plexion — faultness features, and a ters which she has just received, 
flowing jetty beard, of which an Charlie Molyneux is pulling down 
Arab would have been proud. And the crimson berries of a vine which 
withal, one of those polished men of droops from the cliff", and hands 
the world, whose every talent and them to her quietly. He does not 
advantage is at immediate command, attempt to talk, but stands looking 

Molyneux's laughing blue eyes, afar over the distant valley. They 
and brown locks, and sinewy, athlet- are so much accustomed to being to- 
ic figure were entirely English. Eng- gether, that they can afford to be 
lish, too, the unconscious dignity of silent. 

{To he contimt^d.) 

222 Southern Poetry. [J^ulyt 


But newly come from Arthur's court is he, 
Nor long has turned his back on Camelot, 

"Where in the ways of gentle courtesy — 

Whose claims by noble knights are ne'er forgot, 

Since they have place in vows of chivalry. 

And must be kept, if knighthood shrink from spot — 

He won from Gawaine, the courtliest in the isle, 

His knightly love and kind, approving smile. 

While, often in the listed tournament 

The manly strength of arm and skill of tilt 

That with his grace of horsemanship were blent, 
His lance's aim, his sturdy grasp of hilt. 

His weighty thrust, when blows in vain were spent, 
His haughty smile, when his own blood was spilt, 

Stirred like a trumpet's sound the heart of him 

Whose eyes to knightly deeds were never dim. 

Great Arthur held in high esteem the youth. 
And so did all the knights of Table Round. 

Noble Sir Galahad, with heart of ruth. 

By whom in after time was sought and found, 

Through having spotless purity and truth, 
The Holy Bowl with brilliant halo crowned, 

Which Lancelot sought, and Tristrem sought, in vain, 

Because of deadly sin their souls had stain ; 

Sir Galahad, I say, was Tristrem's friend. 

And often in the gentle time of spring 
By smiling Tristrem's side his way would wend 

'Mid shady trees, while tuneful birds would sing : 
And with their happy songs were wont to blend 

The elder knight's sweet, calm tones, and the ring 
Of merry laughter from Sir Tristrem's lips : 
So sweet's the honey j'outh from friendship sips. 

Sir Percival, who with Sir Bors gave aid 

To Galahad, as Merlin had foretold, 
Was also Tristrem's friend, and often prayed 

That he might prove as pure as he was bold ; 
And by his side Sir Banier oft had straj^ed 

Through forest fresh and green and densest wold. 
Hunting the hart or boar with surest aim 
And by Sir Tristrem taught to break the game. 

Beside these, of his friends at Arthur's court 
There were Sir Ferrand, Lanval and Sir Kayc, 

The Lord High Steward^ who gave the knights much sport, 
Gay Dinadam with wit for night and day, 

1866.] Southern Poetry. 223 

And other names that live in fame's report, 

Sir Taulas, faitours ever fain to slay, 
Sir Lionel and Helias the White, 
Brunor and Kochemont foremost in the fight. 

Long while he staid a guest at Camelot, 
A pleasing sight to Arthur's eye, and dear 

To him, because there seemed in him no spot 
Upon the honour which a knight should wear. 

But unto man there is no changeless lot. 
And calumny to worth is ever near : 

There came a time, when Tristrem found no glance 

But one of coldness meet his frank advance. 

One morn at early dawning of the day 

He rose before the birds began to sing, 
As was with Arthur's knights the wonted way, 

His true and loyal greeting to the king 
Prompt in courteous mood as dues to pay. 

For fashions such as these to courts must cling : 
But only with averse and cold regard 
The king gave token of his having heard. 

And through that day, which seemed a day too long, 

At feast, at council, and in hunting-field. 
If few there were, or if there were a throng, 

The Prince's face to merriment was steeled, 
And frowned on him, as Arthur frowned on wrong: 

Some wound in trust which needed to be healed 
Was manifest in ev'ry lo.ok he sent. 
Though few knew then what these suspicions meant. 

But Tristrem, though it made him sad to see * 

Such mistrust in a man he loved so well. 
Was of a princely line too proud and free 

To woo a hand so ready to repel, 
Or ask the cause of such discourtesy. 

When from king's grace so suddenly he feilt 
Ere darkness closed upon the face of day, 
He sought his steed and grimly rode away. 

Had he but deigned to seek to learn the cause 
Of Arthur's coldness to a once-dear knight, 

He might have made for Arthur's sake a pause. 
And on some unseen wiles have shed a light. 

Which would have saved the kingdom many flaws 
By bringing falsehood to the monarch's sight : 

Thus Pride for many men still shuts the gate 

That might have opened to a better fate. 

For the King's own sister, Morgaine La Faye, 

Who with dark Mordred brought on him such woe 

In after days, when sorrows had full play. 
Hating Guinevere with hate's fiercest glow, 

Detested with a hate that grew each day, 
That never ebbed and never ceased to flow. 

234 Southern Poetry. [July, 

Sir Lancelot, that knight of charming face 

And princely form, who had the Queen's fond grace. 

That knight she hated, and because there was 

To him no friend so dear as Tristrem, she 
Gave hate, according to that passion's laws, 

To Tristrem, too, though lack of courtesy 
Was never shown by him, to give her cause. 

Unless such lack it might construed be 
That he had checked with tone severe and stern 
Dark Mordred's malice, when it chanced to burn. 

She, hating thus the knight of Leonesse, 

Sowed slanders on him in the royal ear, 
And, illusive forms, potent to impress 

By magic art on all that men may wear, 
She put such witness on Sir Tristrem's dress 

As made imputed guilt a fact appear ; 
And Arthur, trusting to his eyes, demurred 
Belief, no whit, in what his ears had heard. 

So went he forth, without one weak farewell 
To show the pain distrust had caused his heart ; 

Some unchecked tears for ancient comrades fell. 
From whom his pride alone could make him part ; 

But, when the moon that rose o'er field and dell 
Could not one view of Camelot impart. 

His rapid steed he checked with closer rein, 

And gave his thoughts to Tintagel again. 

It is not in the scope my tale must keep 

To tell what haps were his upon the way, 
Through wild Welsh glens and over mountains steep ; 

How from midnight till dawning of the day 
He sought refreshment in a quiet sleep, 

But, when his matins he had ceased to pray, 
How, wandering on, all his thoughts in maze. 
He tr^eled for the space of many days : 

How, ere his random course had reached the sea 

Some miles the hither side of Tintagel, 
While Cornishmen were plunged in misery. 

He many strange adventures met, and fell 
^ To setting captives from oppressors free. 

And sending gross offenders straight to hell 
By well-aimed tilting with his trusty lance, 
Or by that blade so famous in romance. 

With these brave deeds I nothing have to do. 
Who sing but the fight in the Nameless Isle, 
■ To tell of which the minstrels be but few. 

And these all Romanesque in speech and style. 

And I the' first to give Sir Tristrem due 

In English tongue, which men no more revile, 

vSince I, the Ryraour, sweetness won and grace 

For it in Fairyland, my mistress' place. 

18i3G.] Elmsville and its Hospital. 225 

'Twas thus that Tristrem in a sudden heat, 

Resenting Arthur's coldness, left the place 
Where Chivalry held her worthiest seat 

And gave best homage unto vsroman's grace ; 
'Twas thus that Tristrem on his courser fleet 

Had hither come, his uncle to embrace ; ■ 
But soon he found that a saddening spell 
Was on the boldest hearts at Tintagel. 

Few words suffice to tell the tale, though Mark, 

Garrulous in sorrow, fills the air 
With lamentations for a fate so dark, 

And curses of a foe tfe does not dare 
To fight — for dogs who dare not bite will bark — 

And, ere the King what breath he has to spare 
Has half exhausted, eager Tristrem knows 
The cause of all these ear-distracting woes. 

Breaking in on Mark's tedious harangue, • 

Cries Tristrem with a fierce disdain and rage : 

Where is this robber and his Irish gang ? 
Send him this gauntlet as my battle-gage ; 

Now, never more shall he inflict a pang 
On tender woman, childhood, or old age. 

For, by this right arm and my knightly vow, 

His haughty head beneath my blade shall bow ! 

So says the knight, and at his words a shout 
Rends the air, for the mob are at his heels, 

And hope is busy in each country lout 
And kindles ev'ry heart with her appeals; 

E'en the counsellors put their panic out. 

So fast fair courage trouble soothes and heals, 

And not a heart in stately Tintagel 

But feels of hope and trust the joyful swell. 
{To he continued.) 


" Doctor, I must die if I go much the fretful murmurings of Major Bar- 
further. I am sinking fast, and this ton. He, poor fellow, was returning 
wound is bleeding so that I am per- home, accompanied by the surgeon 
fectly exhausted. Do take me off at of his regiment. Nine weeks ago he 
the next station." had passed over the same road en 

This was said in a feeble voice, route for Virginia. Alas ! how dif- 

and by the wreck of a man who had ferent then — and now ! Buoyant . 

once been handsome, manly and no- hopes, high health, and elastic spirits 

ble-looking. _ ■ were his once. To-day, a wreck of 

"Just have a little patience, Major, his former self, he is going home to 

and all will yet be well," Dr. Hart- die. 
ly answered, in a cheerful voice, to "Here we are at Elmsville, Major. 

VOL. I. — NO. III. 16 

22 6 

Ehnsville and its Hospital. 


The ladies have a wayside hospital 
here, and you can stop until refresh- 
ed enough to travel again. I will of 
course remain with you." 

As the train began to stop, he rose 
to go out upon th-e platform. 

" Keep perfectly still. Major, while 
I go out and make inquiries about 
the hospital and its accommodations. 
Keep quiet now. Major ; I'll be back 
in a few moments." 

Stepping out on the platform, and 
addressing an old lady, who looked 
benevolent, he asked : " Can a sol- 
dier, too badly wounded to travel, 
be received into the wayside hospital ? 
I understand, madam, that you have 
such an institution at this place." 

" Certainly, sir. We are glad to 
be able to help our boys. Lula, do 
you know if any of the committee 
are present?" 

She addressed a tall, fine-looking 
girl of about eighteen summers. 

"Yes, ma'am! I am here to-day 
to represent mamma and Mrs. Law- 
ton. Can I assist you in any thing ?"' 

"Yes, my dear. This Doctor has 
a young soldier who is too sick to go 

"Good-morning," said Lula, turn- 
ing to him. " Can I give you any 
information that you need relative to 
the hospital and its arrangements? 
I am Lula Weston, and sent by mam- 
ma and a friend who could not come 
down to-day." 

"Thank you, Miss Weston. My 
patient is Major Barton, of the 62d 
Georgia. He is too much exhausted 
to go on further, and desires to stop 

" Very well, Doctor ; I will make 
arrangements for your friend imme- 

Lula hurried to a small cottage 
that stood near by, and gave orders 
to Mrs. Welsh to have a bed ready, 
as a new case was to be taken into 
the hospital. 

"And, Mrs. Welsh, let the bed be 
soft. Suppose you put two mat- 
tresses. The poor fellow is wounded." 

Mrs. Welsh was the resident nurse. 
In fact, the house was owned by her, 
but rented by the committee as a 

wayside hospital. She still occupied 
one room, and took the position of 
nurse. Faithfully she performed her 
task ; and when Dr. Hartly carried 
the poor fainting soldier into the cool 
walls of the hospital, he said: "Miss 
Weston, the atmosphere alone will 
revive him. It is so cool and quiet 

Lula did not answer him, but 
went to the door and called her 
mother's coachman. " Tom, go home 
and tell mother that I want her to 
come down to the hospital. No, stay 
a moment ;" and going back into the 
house, she hurriedly wrote a note to 
Mrs. Lawton, begging her to come 
immediately : " I send Tom ; come 
in the carriage." Going out again, 
she said : 

" Take this note to Mrs. Lawton, 
Tom. If she does not come, go up 
home, and tell your mistress to come 
immediately. I fear this soldier will 
die. Stop and tell Dr. Ellis to call 
here some time to-day." 

Lula gave minute directions to the 
servant, who cheerfully obeyed her 
many orders. Then, returning into 
the house, she waited anxiously for 
her friend, or her mother, if Mrs. 
Lawton should fail to come. 

Lula was possessed of a great deal 
of tact, and had attended many cases 
of extreme illness in her own family. 
She was, therefore, a very good 
nurse, having had such ample ex- 

She now called Dr. Hartly, and 
asked if the Major wished any nour- 
ishment. "Mrs. Welsh has just 
boiled some gruel, and I have some 
wine-whey here, if you wish it." 

The Doctor thanked her, and took 
the wine-whey. Lula passed to and 
from the door. She scarcely knew 
whether to go home or remain at the 
hospital. Dr. Hartly came out again 
in a few moments and began convers- 
ing with Lula. He M'as pleased to 
meet with one so agreeable and pleas- 
ant. Dr. Hartly mentally vowed 
that Miss Weston was superior to 
most young ladies. Besides being 
intellectual, Lula was what most per- 
sons thought pretty. As she now 


Ehnsville and its Hospital. 


sat in the little room of the hospital, 
she certainly did look pretty. Dress- 
ed in deep mourning, which was ex- 
ceedingly becoming to her, as her 
complexion was of pearly delicacy 
and her skin of silken smoothness, 
she wore her flowing tresses of brown 
hair in graceful disorder, falling light- 
ly over her snowy neck. Warm- 
hearted, gentle, and loving, her sym- 
pathies were speedily aroused for the 
poor sufferer ; and, as she listened to 
his moaning, she begged Dr. Hartly 
to see if he needed any thing. 

The Doctor complied with her re- 
quest, and soon came back to say : 

" No, Miss Weston ; he needs rest 
more than any thing else." 

" Oh !" cried Lula at this moment, 
"here's Mrs. Lawton. lam glad to 
see you, Mrs. Lawton. I was afraid 
you couldn't leave home. This is 
"Dr. Hartly, the gentleman who came 
on with your patient." 

Mrs. Lawton was busily engaged 
in laying aside her hat, and putting 
on a long white apron, which de- 
clared her purpose. As Dr. Hartly 
was introduced, she bowed, and, 
smiling, said: "With your permis- 
sion, Doctor, I will assist in nursing 
your friend to-day. And now, sir, 
can I see him? Before you go, Lu, 
let me see you again." Then she 
added: "I want you to prepare some 
delicacies for this poor soldier, Lula 
dear. Go home^ please, and tell my 
cook to get every thing ready for me. 
I'll be home at three. I wish to call 
for your mother on my way." 

This conversation was carried on 
in an undertone. Dr. Hartly, at the 
request of Frank, had left the door 
open that he might see the young 
lady who was so kind and whose 
pleasant voice sounded like sweet, 
gushing music. As he caught sight 
of sweet, bright-faced Lula, a strange 
sensation flitted through his heart. 
" Where have I seen her ?" inquired 
he of his puzzled memory. " Those 
clear, gray eyes seem to haunt me 
with their pure, loving depth of feel- 
ing. "Where have I seen her ?" 

Wearily closing his eyes, he 
thought of his dear mother, of her 

waiting for his coming, and of her 
agony and suspense. " Oh, P'ather, 
in mercy spare her!" he cried. "Let 
the death of her youngest son fall as 
the peaceful visitation of Thy will 
upon her bereaved heart !" 

Voicing his prayer in groans, he 
lay with closed eyes. Dr. Hartly 
walked softly around the room, and 
whispered to Mrs. Lawton : 

" As he seems quiet and is prob- 
ably sleeping, we had better leave 

He lay for hours in this half-sleep- 
ing state. On awaking, he found 
himself, as he supposed, alone. Bit- 
ter sobs burst from his lips, as he 
called to mind the loved ones he was 
so soon to leave behind. 

"I can not die, lean not die! 
Away from home — among strangers ; 
no mother, no gentle sister to soothe 
the long, weary hours of pain and 
ennui .^" 

His repinings were interrupted by 
a gentle voice : " Poor boy! you are 
weary and heart- sick, and feel your 
desolation. Can I fill a small portion 
of a mother's place in your heart ? 
I, too, have a darling son, far away 
in a distant hospital among stran- 
gers. My poor, poor Edward lies 
on just such a lonely bed as yours." 

Mrs. Lawton had returned unex- 
pectedly, to find Dr. Hartly, over- 
come by fatigue, quietly sleeping in 
the hall. Mrs. Welsh, who going to 
the door repeatedly still found her 
patient sleeping, had taken a nap in 
her large-arm. Then it was Major 
Barton awoke, and found himself, as 
he thought, quite alone. 

" Thank you, dear lady, you remind 
me a little of my dear mother, far 
away in Georgia. I will gladly receive 
kindnesses at your hands, and imagine 
my own dear mother stands beside 

Mrs. Lawton now heard a gentle 
tapping at the door, and went to see 
who had called. 

" Sister Lula sent me in to tell you 
that if you are ready now she will 
take 3'ou home, ma'am." 

" Where is Lula, Harry ?" asked 
Mrs. Lawton of the little boy. 


ElmsviUe and its Bos2)itaJ. 


" Out in the carriage, ma'am." 

"Mrs Lawton," called Major Bar- 
ton, " can I see Miss Lula ? for as yet 
I do not know her other name." 

" Harry, run and tell your sister I 
wish to see her," said Mrs. Lawton. 
Lula came in, and asked if she had 
been sent for. 

"Major Barton wishes to see you, 
dear child ; and I think it best that 
his wish should be gratified. So, 
come in Lu. Miss Lula Weston, Ma- 
jor Barton." 

Frank put out his thin, emaciated 
hand, and Lula clasped it in her soft 
palm and said : 

" How are yon feeling now ? Bet- 
ter, I hope, Elmsville is a good rest- 
ing-place for an invalid ; and I trust 
you may soon become strong enough 
to go on to Calhoun ; Dr. Hartly told 
me to-day that your home was near 
Calhoun. Can I write for you. Major, 
or v\'Ould 3'ou prefer Mrs. Lawton ? 
Dr. Hartly has just gone out to take a 
ride. I told Hai'ry to carry him home 
to tea with him, so, Mrs. Lawton, we 
will walk. The Doctor looked so 
weary : a little sniff of fresh air wif 1 
benefit him. I hope, Major, you will 
soon be well enough to enjoy the 
srime pleasure. But — do you wish a 
letter written?" 

" Thank you, Miss Lula — I must 
beg that you will allow me that privi- 
lege — I am certain, I have met j'ou 
somewhere. I wish you would call 

" Well, I must really go home, or 
mamma will imagine that I am lost. 
Good-afterndon, Major Barton. Father 
will sit up v/ith you to-night. Mrs. 
Lawton, are you coming?" 

Lula passed into the hall ; and Ma- 
jor Barton said to Mrs. Lawton : 
"Is that fair creature a friend of 

" Yes, and a nobler or lovelier girl 
never lived. She is the eldest of a 
most interesting family. Lula is in- 
deed a sweet and lovely girl. Elms- 
ville would be lost without her. One 
need only see her to love her." 

Wild with delirium. Major Barton 
raved for days. Consciousness left 
\iim ; and I'eason was for some time 

dethroned. Mrs. Weston, Mrs. Law- 
ton and Mrs. R were never weary 

of waiting on him ; and sometimes, 
when maddened with pain, he imagin- 
ed himself again confronting the foe, 
his clear, ringing voice -gave command 
after command in quick succession. 
Now he sees Phil Bradford fivll. A 
groan bursts from his pallid lips : 
" Poor little Lil," he cries. Again he 
is at home. The cool night breezes 
fan his fevered check ; and his wild 
frenzy sinks into a quiet that almost 
resembles sleep. But, no, he is still 
delirious. His mood is placid, be- 
cause he dreams of home. " Mother, 
why don't 3'^ou cool my forehead ? Oh ! 
it is so hot- — burning, burning!" 
Then, as he feels the cool hand of Mrs. 
Weston laid on his heated brow, he 
says : " Mother, Miss Lula is so pret- 
ty, I only saw her once. She went 
away. I have searched the whole of 
Floyd county and in Calhoun, and I 
can not find her. Where is she ? 
Don't you know, mother ? You sent 
her away." His voice assumed a 
pleading, gentle tone. 

Thus he raved. Ten days he lay 
hovering between life and death. Lula 
came daily to see him ; but he never 
recognized her. The young heart of 
our sweet Lu was saddened by these 
closing scenes of her patient's life. 
Pity is said to be near of kin to love ; 
and, ere the gentle girl was aware, her 
heart became deeply interested in the 
fate of Frank Barton. Even death's 
presence can not prevent the growth 
of love. 

The morning of the eleventh day 
has dawned. The lamp dimly lights 
the room. Frank slowly opens his 
eyes and says : " ! my mother, I 
am so tired." 

" Go to sleep, my son, I know you 
are tired," and the gentle voice of Mrs. 
Weston falls soothingly upon his 
weary ear. 

" Mamma," cries Lily in the Georgia 
home, to which the reader must now 
imagine himself transported, "I won- 
der who this note is from, postmarked 
Elmsville, S. C. ? You don't know any 
one there, do you ?" 


Elmsville aiui its Hospital 


" Open it, my daughter. I am pre- 
pared for any thing." 

Breathing an inward prayer for 
strength, Mrs. Barton Mstened as Lily 

" Dear Madam : Your son and my 
friend is now at this place, and is very 
ill. He is unconscious. Has many 
kind friends here and is well cared 
for. I am the surgeon of the regi- 
ment, and have been with him during 
his entire illness. Yours, respectfully, 
B. F. Hartly." 

"0 my son, my son!" burst in 
agony from the lips of the suffering 
mother, " my darling boy." Sob fol- 
lowed sob, and, almost fainting, Mrs. 
Barton went to her room, there to 
pray for her son. 

Lily was wan and pale. The suf- 
fering of six weeks had wrought tlie 
impress of time on her young head. 

And now return we to the suffering 
son and brother. 

" I am a little better to-day. Doctor. 
I feel stronger, and I hope soon to go 
on home." Major Barton had indeed 
gained strength slowly, and was now 
able to talk nearly all day. Three 
weeks had nearly elapsed ; and, al- 
though they were weeks of torture, 
the latter part had been cheered by 
the smiles of Lula Weston. From 
day to day, as he saw her lovely 
character more fully displayed, he 
loved her more fondly. The reply 
just given was made in answer to 
Dr. Hartlj'^'s question of daily recur- 

" Here's Miss Lula and Mr. Dayton 
coming to see you." 

A happy smile stole over his face, 
as Lu entered the room, accompanied 
by her pastor, who was no infrequent 
visitor at that sick couch. 

"Mamma is coming down directly, 
Frank, (he had insisted on her believ- 
ing that Major Barton was a myth 
and that his real name was Frank,) 
and says I must go back home." 

"No, no, Lula; I want you here 
to-day, to write to Mother and Lil for 

" Well, you must ask her to let me 
stay until twelve. Mrs. Ross is your 

nurse to-day ; and mamma is her 
great friend." 

Lula took off her hat, and sat down 
beside his bed ; and, after a fervent 
prayer offered by \l\\ Dayton, they 
were left alone. 

" Lula, look at me," said Frank, "1 
M'ant to ask you a question." Lula 
did as he wished, and, turning her 
dark gray eyes on him, said : 

" Now, Frank, does that suit you?" 

" Lula, could you ever love ? ! 
darling, I have never loved before I 
saw you. Your face haunts me. I 
have not forgotten it one moment. 
Can you ever love a poor cripple ?" 

Her only reply was to kiss his broad 
white brow, and say : 

"You have a heart, Frank." 

The time for Lula to go home at 
length arrived ; and, stooping, she 
whispered : 

" Tell mamma when she comes to- 

" Tom, run home, and tell Miss Lu 
to come down, I want to see her. 
Don't tell her that the Major is 
worse." This was Mrs. ' Weston's 
hurried message. 

Lula arrived, having set out as 
soon as she could arrange her toilet, 
for it was midnight when her mo- 
ther sent for her. Frank had be- 
come suddenly much worse ; and 
Dr. Hartly said that he could live 
only a few hours, and asked for Lula. 
When she came, her mother met her, 
and said : " My daughter, be firm. 
The hour has come for you to sum- 
mon all your courage. Endeavor to 
be calm. Go in now and see Frank ; 
but remember that the slightest noiso 
will kill him." 

Lula stood paralyzed. Soon, how- 
ever, she gained strength to enter the 
room ; and, standing at the bedside, 
she gazed at Frank. Oh ! what a 
sight ! A dark, blue circle had gath- 
ered under his eyes and around his 
mouth. The signs of death were 
stamped upon every feature. But 
now he moves and speaks : " Lula ! 
Mother ! Lily !" and, opening his 
eyes, he saw the being dearest to 
him on earth standing beside him. 


ElmsviUe and its Hospital. 


" Tell mother, Lu, that I am go- 
ing home. I am prepared to die. 
Tell her to meet me in heaven. Tell 
Lily I am — am — " 

A low gurgling sound, and all was 
silent. Frank Barton was dead — 

" We can not bury Major Barton 
to-day, Doctor," said old Mr. Wes- 
ton ; " we can not get the coflBn 

" He must be buried soon," said 
the Doctor, " for he can not be kept 
very long." 

" Well, I must do all I can to hur- 
ry it forward," said the old gentle- 
man. As he left the room, his wife 
and daughter entered. Lula had 
forced herself to go down to the hos- 
pital to see Frank's remains. As she 
entered the room, a dull moan es- 
caped her lips. " Frank ! Frank !" 
she murmured, as she placed a wreath 
and cross upon his breast. Mr. Day- 
ton came and saw his young friend, 
Lula, weeping near the silent sleep- 
er ; and, passing his arm around her, 
he said : " Come away, dear child." 

Lula returned home, and, throw- 
ing herself on the couch, wept long 
and bitterly. Time passed away ; 
and twilight would soon descend. 

" Lula, are you going to see Frank 
buried ?" asked her mother. 

" Yes, mamma." 

" Get up, then, dear, and compose 
yourself, for we must be going di- 
rectly. He is to be buried this even- 
ing, and we ought to go." 

Lula pushed the heavy hair away 
from her face, and bathed her aching 

" Dr. Hartly is down-stairs, Lula. 
I brought him home with me. Poor 
fellow ! he seemed so tired and heart- 
weary ; and Frank is beyond all 

Mrs. Weston loved her darling 
child with deep devotion, and knew 
that she loved Frank. She felt deep- 
ly for her, therefore, in this great 
sorrow. Soothing her by gentle 
words, she led her down-stairs. The 
carriage was ready, and Mr. and Mrs. 
Weston, Dr. Hartly and Lula got in, 

and drove to the church, where the 
remains of poor Frank lay. Twilight 
had deepened, and heavy masses of 
clouds began to gather, portending a 
storm. A low, rumbling sound of 
distant thunder warned Mr. Dayton 
that the services must be short. As 
the bell tolled its ever-mournful peal, 
the villagers came silently in. Major 
Barton was known to every one, as 
his lingering illness had excited uni- 
versal sympathy. The deep voice 
of Mr. Dayton slowly repeated those 
comforting words of John : "I am 
the resurrection and the life ; and he 
that believeth in me, though he were 
dead, yet shall he live ; and whoso- 
ever liveth and believeth in me shall 
never die." A hushed silence fell 
upon the assembly. The last prayer 
was offered up, and the services were 
to be concluded at the grave. Lula 
was almost in a fainting condition, 
as she took Dr. Hartly's arm and 
moved toward the church-yard. But 
his strong arm supported her. The 
clouds had nearly overcast the 
heavens, and faint, struggling gleams 
of moonlight dimly lighted the 
churchyard. " We commit this body 
to the dust — ' dust to dust, ashes to 
ashes.'" A light handful of earth 
rattled on the coffin ; and, as if to 
lend a more solemn aspect to the 
scene, the clouds parted, and one 
broad flash of moonlight fell across 
the grave and the few mourners who 
accompanied Mr. Dayton to Frank's 
last resting-place. As the low, hol- 
low sound of earth, falling upon the 
coffin, told that soon all would be 
over, a wailing cry burst from an 
agonized heart: "0 Frank!" and 
Lula's voice quivered in the stillness 
that pervaded the summer air. Dr. 
Hartly drew her away, and said : 
" Come, Miss Lula, we can do no 
more for Frank. The last tribute is 
paid. We can do no more. Let us 
go home." 

The days passed on. Nothing was 
heard at Woodlands from Frank. 
Mrs. Barton's heart died within her. 
She felt instinctively that her boy 
was no more. A few days after the 


ElmsviUe and its Hospital. 


last scene a letter was handed her 
from Elmsville. Many letters had 
come to her during the earlier period 
of Frank's sojourn there ; and the 
gentle Lula's name was always asso- 
ciated with Frank's in the fond mo- 
ther's thoughts. She knew that 
Lula was loved by Frank, and she 
loved her for her kindness to a 
stranger ; and now, as the letter lay 
in her hand, she dared not open it. 
" I must, I will read it!" said she at 
last. It was from Lula. 

" Dear Mrs. Barton, I am the 
writer of a sad, sad letter. My heart 
fails within me. But the great Dis- 
poser of events alone can give me 
courage to proceed. We have writ- 
ten you daily of Frank's condition — 
and to-day, dear friend, I have a duty 
to perform almost too painful to dis- 
charge. Mrs. Barton, last Monday 
we laid your loved son to rest. The 
hand of affection soothed his last 
hours. I left him apparently doing 
well, but in a few hovirs was recalled 
to see him die. Only a few hours 
did he suffer. The cause was heart- 
disease. Suddenly as a dream has 
he passed away. He sleeps beside 
our dead ; and he can be removed in 
the winter. Allow me to mingle my 
tears with yours, as I repeat to you 
his dying messages : ' Lu, tell mo- 
ther,' said he, 'I am prepared; meet 
me above. Tell Lil— ' The last 
words were never uttered ; in a mo- 
ment he was gone. Dear unknown 
friend, I weep with you. Your loss 
is mine. I loved your son, and would 
have died to save him. I will write 
to you again, when I can better com- 

mami my feelings. Yours with love 
and respect, Lula." 

The days passed away, and the 
hearts of Mrs. Barton and Lily were 
bowed with grief. Lily had a double 
woe — Frank's death and the suspense 
in which she was kept about Phil. 

Six months had gone by; when, 
one day, as she sat listening to the 
low wind of the dreary November 
season, she heard the sound of some 
one approaching. She looked — can 
she believe it ? Is it Phil, or only 
an illusion ? Soon all doubt was 
dispelled. It was indeed the absent 
one returned. Her idol restored to 
her ! 

" Father ! I thank thee !" The 
poor child wept long and passionate- 
ly : the change was so great, the joy 
so unexpected. Phil had fallen, but 
not severely wounded, and now had 
come, a returned prisoner. Oh ! 
what joy to the tender, loving heart 
of our sweet Lil ! 

A year has elapsed, and Lula is 
again at the station when the train 
comes. Sorrow has chastened the 
young heart, and now, like an angel 
of mercy, she is wherever a woman's 
gentle hand and pitying heart can 
administer comfort and relief to the 
sick, wounded, and dying. Her love 
for Frank threw an undying interest 
around his comrades in arms; and 
her grief for him prompted her to 
devote her life to the relief of the 
brave and good, who were suffering 
in what they believed a righteous 


Ghat and Clippings. 




The examination of General Leo 
before this distinguished Committee 
has elicited some curious and inter- 
esting facts, which ought to be pre- 
served by every sincere friend of his 

A synopsis of the report will do 
but imperfect justice to the great and 
important truths evolved, it has there- 
fore been deemed best to give it in 

Question. What is your name? 

Answer. R. E. Eec. 

Q. Was this name given you by 
your sponsors in baptism ? 

A. I don't know, but think that it 
was given me by my parents. 

Q. What is your profession ? 

A. I believe that I am called a 

Q. Are your boys taught the longi- 
tude of the Fojee Islands? 

A. I presume they m.ay be in the 
primary department. 

Q. Are you sure of this ? 

A. I can not say positively.. 

Q. From what meridian do your 
subordinates estimate longitude ? 
from Washington or Greenwich? 

A. I presume that they follow the 

Q. Are you sure they would use 
the meridian of Washington ? 

A. I think that they would. 

Q. What do your people think of 
the subjects of the King of Dahomey ? 

A. They think that thcj'- are blacks, 
V)ut not Republicans. 

Q. Would a lady of the first family 
in Virginia take a bridal tour in a 
balloon ? 

A. If she wei'e JligMlly inclined, 
.she would. 

Q. What do your people think of 
the temples of freedom in the South ? 

A. I don't understand you. 

In explanation. The building.s ap- 
propriated to the Freedmen's Bureau. 

A. Tiiey think that the Freedinen 
make incense offerings in them to the 
Goddess of Liberty. 

Q. What do you think yourself? 

A. I have not investigated the 

Q. Did you know Jeff Davis ? 

A. I believe that I did. 

Q. Did he have neuralgia in his 

A. I think that I saw such a state- 
ment during the war in a Northern 

Q. How did you get a Northern 
paper; through traitors ? (Sensation.) 

A. It was brought to me by a 
courier from the battle-field. 

Q. How did he get it? (Much ex- 

A. He got it from a Union soldier. 

Q. Did the rebel rob him ? (In- 
tense emotion.) 

A. The owner of the paper was 

Q. What killed him ? 

A. It was supposed to be a bullet. 

Q. Who fired that bullet? 

A. I think it was a soldier. (Great 

Q. Did you believe the statement 
in the Northern paper ? 

A. I think that I believed; don't 
remember distinctly. 

Q. What was the nature of the 
neuralgia in JefF Davis's eye ? 

A. I suppose that it was some 
sort of pain ; never studied phj'^siol- 


Q. What did you call Jeff Davis ? 

A. I called him Mr. Davis. 

Q. What kind of currency did your 
soldiers use? 

A. Paper money. 

Q. Did they use greenbacks ? 

A. It is said that they did some- 

Q. Were these supplied by North- 
ern copperheads? (Great emotion. 
Committee rise.) 

A. I think not. 

Q. IIow then ? 

A. It is said that the Stonewall 
Brigade made a run upon the North- 
ern Banks. 

Q. Are the ladies of Virginia still 
inclined to be rebellious ? 


Chat and Gli2^pings. 


A. Those who have bad husbands 
are said to be. 

Q. Are you sure of this ? (Much 

A. My information may be incor- 
rect ; have no personal knowledge on 
the subject. 

Q. WS'uld your churches allow the 
star-spangled banner to lie across 
their pulpits ? 

A. I don't know, but think that 
they would prefer the banner of the 

Q. Are you sure of this ? (Much 

A.. I may be mistaken. 

Q. Would they permit " Hail Co- 
lumbia, haj^py land," to be intro- 
duced into their hymn-books ? 

A. I think they would prefer poet- 
ry in praise of another land. 

Committee rise in an excited man- 
ner. Some cry, " He means Dixie," 
others, " I thought the murder would 
out." After order has been restored, 
the President propounds the 

Q. What other land? (All rise 

A. The heavenly land. (All resume 
their seats.) 

Q. What do your people think of 
Senator Wilson ? 

A. They have heard that he fought 

President of Committee, (looking 
perplexed.) He did raise a regiment, 
but after the brutal murder of Colo- 
nel Baker, at Ball's Bluff, he resign- 

Q. What do your people think of 
Senator Sumner ? 

A. The old Union man tries to 
brook him. The old secessionist 
hroohs him in his heart. 

Q. AVhose heart ? that of the rebel 
or Senator ? 

A. The heaM of the rebel and the 
head of the Senator were in my mind. 

Q. Did you ever call Jeff Davis 
Mr. President ? 

A. I believe that I did. (Great 

Q. When and where ? Remember 
that you are under oath. 

A. To the best of my recollection, it 
was during the war and at Richmond. 

Q. What was the nature of your 
conversation ? 

A. If I remember rightly, I said, 
"How is your health to-day, Mr. 
President?" and he replied, "Pretty 
good, I thank you." 

Q. What do your people think of 
the burning of Columbia ? 

A. They generally seem to believe 
that it was caused by fire. 

Q. Who started the fire ? 

A. General Hampton says that it 
was General Sherman. General Sher- 
man says that it was General Hamp- 

It will be seen that such was the 
skill in propounding questions, that 
although the answers of the witness 
were very guai'ded, a very satisfac- 
tory exhibit is made of the present 
temper and condition of the States 
lately in rebellion. 


In statistics recently compiled and 
published, it is plainly shown that 
the negro is not equal to the burdens 
of freedom, and that when he puts on 
a uniform he has almost surely en- 
shrouded himself for burial. Bullets 
do not kill him, but disease claims 
him for its own, and he perishes sud- 
denly. Only two thousand nine hun- 
dred and ninety-seven died in action 
ajid of wounds, while twenty-six 
thousand three hundred and one fell 
victims to disease. Here is a huge 
disproportion. The deaths in action 
and by wounds stand to those by 

disease in the ratio of one to eight. 
Among whites the ratio is only one- 
to two. This shows that the negroes 
are not of that "perdurable stuff" of 
which freemen should be made. Not 
only in war does he show his vast 
incapacity to meet and endure the 
harassing responsibilities of life, but 
in peace he sinks beneath the ordin- 
ary trials of this uncertain and soul- 
trying world. As children need 
parents, so do negroes need masters. 
The world will recognize the fact one 
day, but " too late" — BUhmond Ex- 


Hevleio Notices. 

[July, 1866. 


Life and Campaigns of Lieutenant- 
General Thomas J. Jackson. By 
Professor R. L. Dabney, D.D. New- 
York: Blelpck & Co., 19 Beekman 
street. 1866. 

We have requested one of our 
most gifted writers to make an elabo- 
rate review of this book. For the 
present, it is sufficient to say that 
the book is from the pen of the Ad- 
jutant-General of the lamented hero, 
the man of all others he would have 
selected for such a task. The widow 
of the deceased gave the biographer 
free access to the military papers and 
even private letters of her husband. 
With abundance of materials possess- 
ed by no other writer, and with a 
mind thoroughly appreciative of the 
character o'f the great warrior, the 
author has produced a work of en- 
during fame, which should find a 
place in every good library. 

Beeciienbrook : A Rhyme of the War. 

Baltimore: Kelly & Piet, Publishers. 


Mrs. Preston has long had an es- 
tablished reputation as Miss Margaret 
Jenkins, but this beautiful poem will 
add vastly to her fame. We have 
seen no American poetry for years 
superior to it, and but little that 
would approach it in purity of senti- 
ment, loftiness of thought, and fault- 
lessness of rhythm. Where all is so 
excellent, it is almost impossible to 
say that one chapter has more beau- 
ties than another. Still we must 
confess that we were more touched 
by Chapter VIII. than by any other. 
The letter of Alice to her husband 
describing the burning of their house 
by the enemy, is exquisitely woman- 
ly ; every utterance is that of the 
tender, devoted wife, solicitous to 
spare the feelings of the husband 
'' absent in the army," and to con- 
sole him with the assurance that, 
however poor he was in worldly 
goods, he was still rich in the price- 
less affection of a pure-hearted wo- 
man. The minor pieces in this gem 
of a book are also of high merit. 

We are glad to see that the pub- 
lishers have done full justice to the 
authoress. The binding, typography, 
punctuation, and general finish of 
the book are all that could be desired. 
Southern writers, who would not 
have their works marred by careless- 
ness and slovenliness in printing, 
would do well to notice the hand- 
some manner in which this publish- 
ing house does its work. 

Bill Arp, so Called. New-York : Me- 
tropolitan Record Office. 1866. 

William Arp, Esquire, is too well 
known as a humorist and satirist to 
require any notice or commendation 
from editors and reviewers. His 
pieces have been eagerly seized upon 
by our Southern papers, and happy 
was the editor who could get the 
start of his contemporaries in the 
scramble for them. His "so called" 
letter, however, has specially pleased 
our " so called " people. A vener- 
able minister of the straitest sect of 
Calvinists, who would have regarded 
the reading of a secular paper on 
Sunday as a gross profanation of the 
day, told the editor of this magazine 
that he re-read this celebrated letter 
after church on a Sabbath afternoon. 
He said: "I discovered a deep tone 
of piety in it, which did me good." 
We too have felt good after reading 
this letter, but not exactly in the de- 
votional way. We think, however, 
that there are some people at the 
South who would not feel good after 
reading the letters which begin on 
page 31, page 41, and page 46. Lest 
their feelings should be too much 
lacerated, we have kindly pointed out 
those which they had better skip 
over. We want every one to get a 
pleasant impression of the book. 
And so we commend the picture on 
page 122 to General Sherman, that 
he may "feel good " too. 

The publishers have wisely put 
the book at such a price as will en- 
able the impoverished people of the 
South to procure it. ' 


No. IV. 

AUGUST, 1866. 

YOL. I. 


The same want of industry, want 
of perseverance, want of prompt at- 
tention to business, want of adapta- 
tion of right means to accomplish 
cherished ends were displayed every- 
where and in every department. 
They brought misery, disaster, and 
ultimate ruin upon our cause. Noth- 
ing but the magnificent courage of 
our troops kept the Confederate flag 
so long afloat to battle and to breeze. 

The world never before saw such a 
glorious array of gallant soldiers as 
those who rallied around Southern 
banners at the first call to arms. 
Deeds which would have immortal- 
ized a Roman or a Spartan scarce 
found a record in a local newspaper. 
The wildest stories of prowess in the 
pages of romance were surpassed by 
men, regardless then of distinction, 
and still unknown to fame. The 
most daring feats were scarcely com- 
mented upon outside of the regiment, 
and scarcely outside of the company 
to which the actors belonged. 

Nothing could be proposed so ha- 
zardous as not to receive, instantly, 
more volunteers than were needed for 
its performance. At Yorktown, the 
Berdan sharp - shooters had been 
driven out of a house, but still used 
it as a cover, and controlled it by 
their fire. A general officer said to 

the colonel of the 23d N.C. regiment, 
" Call for three volunteers to burn 
that house." " I will have to select 
the men, my whole regiment will 
volunteer," was the reply. Such was 
the spirit of the army. The duty 
of officers was to restrain and not to 

Nor was this an easy task. The 
most ordinary precautions were ne- 
glected. Recklessness was the es- 
tablished order of things; and the 
officer had to be more reckless of his 
person than the men, before his words 
of warning, for the preservation of 
life, would be heeded or even listened 
to with toleration. 

While our enemies wisely covered 
their advances by frowning batteries 
and earthworks, our own men scorn- 
fully relied upon their ability to 
wrest these from them. It is not the 
design of this article to show that, in 
the first two years of the war, we 
fought too much and at too great dis- 
advantage. Every one now under- 
stands this, and that the Fabian poli- 
cy of "Washington and of Johnston 
could alone have saved the country. 
But 'tis our design to show that the 
difficulties under which we struggled 
and under which we sank at last, 
were due to defects in our education 
■ — in which term is comprised domes- 

* Contiaued from June number. 

VOL I. — NO IV. 





tic, social, and scholastic training. 
We will draw ovir illustrations chiefly 
from the incidents of the war, not for 
the purpose of pointing out remedies 
for deficiencies in case of another con- 
test. We earnestly trust that no fu- 
ture war will desolate the land in our 
own generation, or in that of our 
children. We use them simply for 
the reason that war demonstrates as 
nothing else does the excellences or 
the defects of the educational system 
of a country. The child of the man 
of wealth and position has been 
poorly instructed, who has only 
learned those things which will adorn 
a position of ease and affluence. A 
sudden turn of fortune may throw 
him a helpless beggar upon the cold 
charities of a selfish world. When 
the skies are bright and lovely above, 
and the water placid and beautiful 
beneath, 'tis folly to venture out to 
sea in a pleasure-boat which has 
neither the strength nor the con- 
struction to resist the violence of a 
storm. The serene heavens may 
soon be shrouded by black, angry 
clouds; the smooth surface of the 
ocean may soon be broken into heav- 
ing, tossing, turbulent waves. If we 
pronounce him to be poorly edu- 
cated who has learned nothing for 
the day of adversity, what shall be 
said of that national system of edu- 
cation which does not contemplate 
trial, sorrow, and poverty ? If we 
wonder at the madness of the party 
in the pleasure-boat, Avhat shall be 
said of that general plan of instruc- 
tion which assumes that the vessel of 
state will ever glide over smooth wa- 
ters, and be fanned by gentle breezes ? 
The bloody struggle around Sebas- 
topol demonstrated the immeasur- 
able inferiority of tlie British to the 
French in the art of war. 

Deficiencies in the food, clothing, 
and transportation departments con- 
verted their camps into hospitals ; 
deficiencies in the medical appliances 
changed those hospitals into recepta- 
cles for the dead. Deficiencies in the 
engineeriog department had to be 
supplied by costly exhibitions of va- 
lor and \va&tcful expenditure of life. 

The old British pluck was still there, 
but 'twas misdirected and misap- 
plied in fruitless deeds of daring. 
'■ It is magnificent, but it is not war," 
was the sarcastic comment of the 
Frenchman upon the charge at Bala- 

There was a deeper sarcasm in the 
courteous toast of Pelissicr, " Our 
brave allies, M'ho have taught us how 
to die." Sadly they taught that les- 
son when freezing intents, hospitals, 
and trenches, as well as in baring 
their bosoms gloriously but vainly 
to the storm of shot and shell. 

Waterloo was nobly avenged when 
France furnished overcoats to the 
shivering British soldiery. Forty 
years of peace had caused the arts 
belonging to refined life to be culti- 
vated in the British isles, almost to 
the exclusion of those belonging to 
war. Science was neglected. Ox- 
ford was thrust forward, and Cam- 
bridge pushed into the background. 
But the British are an eminently 
practicable people. Their wonder- 
ful ingenuity, which had been deve- 
loped, and fostered by a wise nation- 
al policy, and which had found ex- 
ercise in railroads, tunnels, factories, 
machine-shops, etc., was now turned 
toward the production of the imple- 
ments and appliances of war. Great 
Britain once more resumed her posi- 
tion as the first power in Europe. 
But she never could have regained 
her ancient prestige, had it not been 
for her immense superiority in me- 
chanical skill and contrivance. Her 
example then aS"ords a warning and 
not a precedent for other nations. 

Any one of them may lose vantage- 
ground, she alone can retake it. The 
wise will profit by the lessons of histo- 
ry as well as those of experience. It is 
said that fools can be taught only in 
the school of suffering. We have 
had the teaching of bitter experience 
as well as the teaching of history, 
and we will be worse than idiots if 
we do not profit by both. 

With vinsurpassed ingenuity and 
eminently suggestive minds, the 
Southern people had never cultivated 
the mechanic arts. Their social in- 




stitutions engaged mind and heart in 
agriculture, and tliey were the most 
successful producers on the globe of 
the three great staples, cotton, rice, 
and tobacco. 

Their scholastic training, as well as 
their system of labor, turned their 
thoughts away from the study of 
science, and its application to discov- 
ery and invention. Hence they 
found themselves plunged into the 
most gigantic struggle of modern 
times, without the means of pro- 
ducing warlike implements, and with- 
out the appliances to give efficiency 
to a campaign. They had one or two 
foundries for casting siege-guns, none 
for making field-pieces. They were 
destitute of powder-mills, machinery 
for making percussion-caps, manu- 
factories of small -arms, establish- 
ments for making cartridge-boxes, 
belts, caps, shoes, and clothing. They 
had to improvise arsenals for the ma- 
nufacture of shot, shell, projectiles 
of every kind, swords, pistols, and 
bayonets. With a country rich be- 
yond comparison in minerals, they had 
so neglected mining, that at the out- 
set of the conflict, they wanted lead for 
their rifles, iron for their projectiles, 
and copper for their field-guns. Thou- 
sands died for want of medicines 
which grew upon their soil or were 
buried beneath it. In like manner, 
the South had to establish wagon- 
shops for the construction of gun- 
carriages, caissons, ambulances, and 

Tanneries had to be made and rude 
hands set to work upon harness, sad- 
dles, and cavalry equipments. The 
very spurs which the horsemen wore, 
and the matches with which the in- 
fantry soldier lighted his pipe, were 
the creations of the necessities of war, 
and made by those all unskilled in 
such labor. No provision had been 
made for re-supplying railroads with 
iron and locomotives, worn out by use 
or destroyed by the casualties of war. 
The destruction of any of our lines of 
communication was almost as irre- 
parable as the destruction of an army. 
In like manner, we were without the 
ability to construct engines for steam- 

boats, and our magnificent rivers soon 
ceased almost entirely to be used. 

So the great invention of Brooke, of 
the tortoise-shaped vessel, (so supe- 
rior to the monitors of the North,) 
was nearly worthless, because we 
could not furnish with suitable en- 
gines the boats constructed upon the 
Brooke principle. So the ram that 
defied the whole Federal fleet in the 
Yazoo and around Vicksburgh had to 
be blown up at length by its own 
crew, because it had no motive pow- 
er. The same deficiency rendered 
the gun-boats'at Wilmington, Charles- 
ton, and Mobile, in the James and 
other rivers, mere floating batteries, 
formidable for defense, but useless 
for attack. But our neglect of the 
mechanic arts was perhaps most 
strikingly displayed in the scarcity of 
cotton factories. 'Having a larger 
amount of this great staple than any 
other people, and that too of a vastly 
superior quality — having, moreover, 
unequaled water-power, we had not 
erected establishments enough to sup- 
ply the one tenth of our population ; 
and the old-fashioned spinning-wheel 
and loom had to be revived all over 
the South. Inattention to science in 
our schools, and disregard of the use- 
ful arts depending upon it in practi- 
cal life, have not been so painfully 
illustrated elsewhere in modern his- 
tory as they have been in our own 
unfortunate country. Never before 
did a nation rush into war with such 
inadequate means for carrying it on 
successfully. The inevitable end had 
to come, though long deferred by the 
unsurpassed gallantry of our soldiers, 
and the unparalleled enthusiasm and 
energy of our noble women. 

The courage of inferior numbers 
unaided by the appliances of war 
could not but yield at length to the 
soldiery and resources of the world. 
The industry at the knitting-needle 
and the foot- wheel could not contend 
with the skill and and tireless labor 
of spinning-jennies and power-looms. 

We had not realized the helpless- 
ness of a purely agricultural people, 
with whom education was an accom- 
plishment, or at most a preparation 




for the legislative hall, and not for 
the development of our resources ; 
with whom mental training was 
whetting the sword for gladiatorial 
contest in the political arena, and not 
the sharpening of ax and plow for 
subduing the powers of nature. Ac- 
cordingly, we find that State Con- 
ventions met for the purpose of sepa- 
rating from the old Union, in build- 
ings planned by Northern architects, 
and erected by Northern mechanics 
out of Northern materials. The 
members took their seats upon North- 
ern chairs, around a Northern table, 
and appended their signatures with 
Northern pens, and Northern ink, to 
the ordinance of secession, written 
upon Northern paper. If they looked 
at their feet, they saw a carpet from 
a Northern loom. If they looked 
above, Northern chandeliers support- 
ed Northern lamps or Northern can- 
dles, which shed an ominous light 
upon the document they had just 
signed. The frescoes and ornaments 
on the ceiling over the chandelier, 
grimly hinted at Northern quarries. 
Northern coasting-vessels, and North- 
ern workmanship. If they looked 
around, they saw paintings executed 
by Northern artists, and placed in 
Northern frames, and hung by North- 
ern cords from Northern knobs. The 
very fire that warmed them was made 
of Northern coal in Northern grates ; 
or if Southern wood, the andirons 
that supported that wood were of 
Northern manufacture, while North- 
ern shovel and tongs rested in North- 
ern hooks against a facing of North- 
ern marble. The eyes of those grave 
dignitaries could not rest upon a sin- 
gle article in the hall, which was not 
calculated to remind them of their 
baby -like dependence upon the peo- 
ple whom they wished to abjure for- 
ever. They all sincerely desired a 
peaceful separation, and most of them 
believed such a thing to be pi'actica- 
ble ; but in case of the last dread re- 
sort to arms, the weapons with which 
they hoped to win a separate nation- 
ality were all marked with the North- 
ern brand. 

And now when the solem act of se- 

cession has been accomplished, and 
the Governor has to notify his people 
of their changed relations, he draws 
up his proclamation in a room full of 
the same Northern associations as 
the Hall of the Convention, 

He has numerous copies made upon 
Northern paper, places them in North- 
ern envelopes, intrusts them in 
Northern mailbags, secured by North- 
ern locks and chains, to be carried 
upon railroads made of Northern 
iron, by a train of cars, all built at 
the North, and pulled by Northern lo- 
comotives. Such was our prepara- 
tion for the terrible conflict, and the 
subsequent conduct of the war was 
in all respects of the same character. 

Having neglected to cultivate the 
mechanic arts, we had to trust to 
men whose sympathies were often 
with our enemies to run our rail- 
roads, to work our telegraph wires, 
to manufacture our ordnance stores, 
etc. Hence it happened from the be- 
ginning to the end of the war, that 
when troops had to be transported, 
there were delays, collisions of trains, . 
running off the track and killing of 
soldiers. Hence it was that we heard 
so often of the disappearance of tele- 
graph operators with their dispatches. 
Seldom, indeed, did our troops eva- 
cuate a town without leaving a tele- 
graphic operator behind who had not 
been born at the South. Hence it 
was that our cannon often burst when 
most needed, and our shells were often 
more terrible to friend than to foe. 

Hence it was, that every species of 
practical business being intrusted to 
alien or unskillful hands exhibited a 
marvelous ingenuity in bungling and 
blundering, which the most crafty 
contriver of Chinese puzzles could 
not have witnessed without astonish- 
ment. But we can do no justice to 
this subject. Even General Wise, 
with all his genius and wonderful 
command of language, fell far short 
of it in his celebrated address. No 
other need attempt it after his failure. 
Let it suflSce to say that with the 
world in arms to aid us, instead of the 
world in arms against us, we must 




have failed with such inherent radical 
defects in our organization. 

There may be persons upon whose 
minds prestige and prescription have 
wrought such a prejudice that they 
can see no necessity for a change in 
our system of training, notwithstand- 
ing this painful, although brief exhi- 
tion of its deficiencies. But we be- 
lieve that the majority of the South- 
ern people will pronounce a verdict 
against that education which makes 
no provision for the hour of trial and 
of poverty. 

We recognize a change in their 
views in the higher character of the 
periodicals since the war. Every 
newspaper which we see contains 
something really useful and valuable. 
The everlasting twaddle about poli- 
tics is giving place to important facts 
in history, in the mechanic arts, in 
agriculture, in morals, in philosophy, 
etc. With pleasure we notice that 
the papers, edited by soldiers of the 
late Confederate army, are the most 
in earnest in imparting information 
calculated to improve our condition 
and elevate us from our depression. 
We recognize the change, in the es- 
tablishment of scientific schools and 
the springing up of agricultural jour- 
nals. No purely political paper could 
be sustained now at the South. No 
other kind before the war met with a 
wide circulation and a generous pa- 
tronage. Slavery being abolished, 
the people are thoroughly aroused 
upon the subject of scientific farm- 
ing, and labor-saving machines. Our 
gallant old North State, though often 
accused of Rip Van Winkleism, has 
not been slow to perceive the useless- 
ness of political essays at a time 
when the Jacobins will construe the 
most cringing submission into cow- 
ardice, and the most powerful argu- 

ments into insolence and disloyalty. 
Our conservative people show unmis- 
takably, through the press, their 
opinion that a single practical hint to 
the farmer and mechanic is worth 
whole folios of politics. Numerous 
applications before all the legisla- 
tures of the South for the incorpora- 
tion of industrial companies evince 
too a manly determination to develop 
our vast resources. Providence has 
not conferred upon us so munificently 
such precious gifts to be neglected or 
thrown away. The immense mineral 
riches hid in the bosom of the earth 
will be discovered, and made to con- 
tribute to human enjoyment. 

Our harbors will be whitened with 
sails from all parts of the world. Our 
beautiful rivers, that have scarcely 
been ruffled hitherto by the flat-boat, * 
will welcome to their bright waters 
the majestic steamer with its precious 
cargo. Our forests of live-oak will 
ring with thousands of axes, and our 
pine barrens will be all aglow with 
furnaces to supply the navies of 
the world. Our fisheries will supply 
the markets of both hemispheres. 
Our magnificent waterfalls, which 
have raised their lonely hymn in so- 
litude to their Creator, since " the 
morning stars first sang together," 
will hear the roar of engines, the 
clangor of machinery, and the sound 
of human voices blended with their 
anthem of praise. It is for you to 
decide, O ye people of the land we 
love ! whether by a wise adaptation 
of your educational training to the 
new order of things, all these mighty 
achievements will be performed by 
you and your children, or whether 
they will be committed to the hands 
of the alien, the stranger, and perhaps 
the enemy. 

{To te continued.) 

240 Acceptation. [Aug- 


We do accept thee, heavenly Peace f 
Albeit thou comest in a guise 
Unlocked for, undesired, our eyes 
"Welcome, through tears, the sweet release 
From war, and woe, and want — surcease 
For which we bless thee, holy Peace ! 

We lift our foreheads from the dust ; 

And as we meet thy brow's clear calm, 
There falls a freshening sense of balm 

Upon our spirits. Fear — distrust — 

The hopeless present on us thrust — 

We'll meet them as we can, and must I 


War has not wholly wrecked us : still. 

Strong hands, brave hearts, high souls are ours. 
Proud consciousness of quenchless powers — 

A Past, whose memory makes us thrill — 

Futures uncharactered — to fill 

With heroisms if we will. 


Then courage, brothers ! Though our breast 
Feel oft the rankling thorn despair, 
That failure plants so sharply there, 

No pang, no pain shall be confessed : 

We'll work and watch the brightening west, 

And leave to God and heaven the rest ! 

Mrs. Margaret J. Preston. 



Snow Bound, 



The Snow Bound. A Winter Idyll. By 
John Greenleaf Whittier. Boston : 
Ticknor & Fields. 1866. 

The title of this little volume in- 
dicates its subject sufficiently per- 
haps. It is Snow Bound, not 
Ice Bound, as Captain Kane was, 
in the Arctic regions, where icebergs, 
towering high as the mast of his 
ship, girded him round; mountains 
of rock-crystal, (c7ystal is literally 
ice,) gilded with all the hues of the 
rainbow, hemmed him in where there 
was no egress ; and by pressing to- 
gether, either threatened to squeeze 
up, in a great vice, both ship and 
men, or lifted ship and all out of the 
water. Not ice-lound, as is the hap- 
less man who falls by chance into 
one of those fathomless crevices in 
the Alpine glaciers, beyond the reach 
of any help, though with a rope ten 
thousand toises long ; but who is 
bound in eternal chains of frost, not 
to be thawed out till the " elements 
shall melt with fervent heat," in the 
fires of the final conflagration. Not 
ice-hound, like the massy Siberian 
mammoth on the shore of that icy 
sea, embedded high above the water, 
still preserved without putrefaction, 
" antediluvian beef," laid away for 
preservation, to show to future ages 
that in those days when there were 
giants, the animal race corresponded 
in size. 

Not ice-lound, as the poet Horace 
says of the river Hebrus in Thrace, 
'■'■nivali compede vinctus,^^ with snowy 
fetters bound. Or as the great inspired 
pset has it, " By the breath of God 
frost is given, and the breadth of the 
waters is straitened." " The waters 
are hid as with a stone, and the face 
of the deep is frozen, (taken)." 

Snow Bound, but not as the 
great poet of The Seasons paints 
the scene, which too often, alas! has 
been realized, when snow-flakes fly 
like flocks of birds ; when, " hail, 
snow, and vapors, stormy wind, fulfill 
the word of Him who brings these 

out of his treasures ; who giveth 
snow like wool, the hoar-frost like 
ashes ; who casteth forth his ice like 
morsels, and none can stand before 
Ms GoUiy 
Then as Thomson says — 

" As thus the snows arise ; and foul and fierce, 
All AVinter drives along the darkened air ; 
In his own loose revolving fields the swain 
Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend, 
Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, 
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain : 
Nor finds the river, nor the forest hid 
Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on 
From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; 
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps ; 

and down he sinks 
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, 
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, 
Mixed with the tender anguish Nature shoots 
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, 
His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. 
In vain for him the officious wife prepares 
The fire fair blazing and the vestment warm ; 
In vain his little children, peeping out 
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire 
With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! 
Nor wife nor children more shall he behold. 
Nor friends nor sacred home. On every nerve 
The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 
And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold. 
Lays him along the snow a stiffened corse, 
Stretched out and bleaching iu the northern 

The Snow Bound before us is in 
happy contrast with this distressing 
scene. So far from suffering, the 
author and his friends, the father, 
children, etc., were simply confined 
to the family mansion, housed and 
protected from the violence of the 
northern blast, when it blew ice, and 
none could stand before the cold ; 
enjoying social converse and domes- 
tic endearments, in the family circle 
around a blazing fire — 

" Of wood against the chimney-back. 
The oaken log, green, huge and thick. 
And on its top tbe stout back-stick, 
The knotty forestick laid apart. 
And filled between with curious art 
The ragged brush ; — " 

Before such a fire the author tells 

" Shut in from all the world without. 
We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 
Content to let the north wind roar 
In baffled rage at pane and door, 
While the red logs before us beat 
The frost-line back with tropic heat ; 
And ever, when a louder blast 
Shook beam and rafter as it passed, 

Snow Bound. 


The merrier up its roaring draught 

The great throat of the chimney laughed. 

What matter how the night behaved? 
■tt'hat matter how the north wind raved ? 
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow." 

About almost any transaction that 
comes before us, we, and every body, 
as well as the people " down-east," 
like to ask some questions : such as, 
who was the author and the persons 
most interested and concerned in it ? 
And as it is said very truly that 
" geography and chronology are the 
two eyes of history," we want to 
look through both these at any mat- 
ter of history ; and we naturally ask 
loliere did an event occur, and when 
did it happen ? and then, further, 
whether any important consequence 
followed it ? and perhaps, too in the 
other direction, we inquire into the 
antecedent causes ; for we like to 
trace effects back to causes. 

The writer, John Greenleaf Whit- 
tier, as appears from an engraving 
prefixed to the volume, and from 
other sour-ces, is a man about sixty 
years old ; of a good personal appear- 
ance, one of nature's favorites, with 
a large, broad forehead, indicating 
great capacity of brain; though 
somewhat care-worn and weary — 
one you might know as the one, 

" Ingenium cui sit, cui mens divinior, atque 03 
Magna sonaturum — " 

" who has genius, (native talent, foeta 
nascitui\) who has a soul of a divi- 
ner cast, and greatness of expres- 
sion." He is of Quaker origin, " to 
the manor born," on the banks of the 
Merrimack, and inheriting from his 
ancestors if not tlie peculiar tenets of 
that sect so much persecuted by the 
early settlers of New-England, as 
their extreme dislike to the doctrines 
of their persecutors, " The Doctor's 
Mail of Calvin's Creed," " the acid 
sect ;" and naturally he would feel so 
when his own sect, then so much 
spoken against, is styled by the 
great author of the Magnalia, '■'■ devil- 
driven heretics.'''' It appears that 
the family continued to occupy the 
old mansion, where the scene of the 

poem is laid, for several successive 

And any one much conversant 
with the old style of building farm- 
houses in the Bay State and the land 
of " steady habits," could easily 
imagine what kind of an edifice it 
was, independent of the frontispiece, 
or the miniature view of the scene of 
the " snow-bound" family. We can 
see the old building, with a bold two- 
story front, and sliding down behind 
with a long roof, making, not what 
we would denominate "a shed-room,'''' 
but a "Zea?i-if(?,"the profile resemb- 
ling a man who has a thick head of 
hair cut short on his forehead, and 
hanging long behind, like a lady's 
"waterfall." It is said that in very 
early times, when the mothers cut 
their children's hair, they cut in two a 
pumpkin, and fitting one half of it 
on the head, clipped the hair by the 
edge of that. This style of building 
is according to that pattern. 

In the centre is the huge chimney, 
built of rock, probably filling more 
space than any room in the house. 
All the fireplaces are in this, and 
the rooms ranged around it. The 
front entrance before it, the parlor at 
one end, the dining and sitting-room, 
all in one, with a great buffet in one 
corner, not movable, but constructed 
with the house, for the display of 
china, delft, and plate, pewter por- 
ringers, plates, and platters, brightly 
scoured ; and with wooden trenchers 
nicely ranged in rows. Behind the 
chimney is the kitchen, not only oc- 
cupying its breadth, but extending 
beyond it on each side suflBciently 
for doors to enter the parlor on the 
one hand, and the dining-room on the 
other. On each end of the kitchen, 
occupying with it the back or one- 
story part of the house, is a sleeping- 
room, with an entrance both from 
the kitchen and the front apartment. 
The other sleeping-rooms being above- 
stairs. In the " so-called " kitchen 
is the great fireplace, wide enough 
to put back-logs and fore-sticks about 
as long as the wood is ordinarily 
sledded in winter from the forest, 
with a wide-throated chimney to 


Snow Bound. 


carry up the surging smoke ; and 
the large oven, with its mouth in the 
back of this fireplace, extending its 
length into the interior of the huge 
pile of rock, was regularly heated 
twice a week as hot as Nebuchadnez- 
zar's furnace into which he cast the 
three young men. Here the huge 
loaves of brown bread, etc., were 
baked to supply the family half a 
hebdomade of days ; except in some 
places, where on Saturdays they 
must have a dish of taked leans, to 
begin the Sabbath with on Saturday 
night at sunset. A man riding into 
the suburbs of a town one Sabbath 
morning came across Cuffee at a cer- 
tain man's door chopping wood. He 
asked the negro if he did not know 
that he was breaking the Sabbath. 
"No," says he, "it can't be Sunday, 
for we did not have baked beans last 
night." In the back of the chimney 
too was suspended the trammel ; and 
here was the crane, to turn back and 
forth to suspend the culinary utensils 
over the fire. The fire-place was al- 
most large enough for a family to get 
around the cheerful, blazing fire in 
winter within and under the mantel- 
piece ; and then by drawing up in 
front the high settle, a kind of a 
heavy seat or bench, with a back as 
high as a man's head, of solid boards, 
a family could bid defiance to frost 
at any degree below zero. 

In such a house as this, when the 
storm of snow is raging without, we 
have a "good man," a venerable 
Quaker, and his better half, a Qua- 
keress, somewhere and at some time, 
with an "ancient maiden" aunt 
without the " ancient maiden's gall," 
(on which side the auntship lies the 
author does not tell us,) but 

" The sweetest -woman ever fate 
Perverse denied a household mate." 

An uncle too- was there, who — 

" innocent of books, 
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks." 

An elder and a younger sister too 
were then sojourners under "that 
roof. The schoolmaster, too, as good 
fortune would have it, who, from 
" classic Dartmouth's college halls," 

' Could doff at ease his scholar's govrn, » 
To peddle wares from town to town ; 
Or through the long vacation's reach 
In lonely lowland districts teach, 
Where all the droll experience found 
At stranger hearths in boarding round. 
Another guest that winter night 
Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light 
Unmarked by time, and yet not young ; 
The honeyed music of her tongue 
And words of meekness scarcely told 
A nature passionate and bold, 
Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, 
Its milder features dwarfed beside 
Her unbent will's majestic pride. 
She sat among us at the best, 
A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, 
Rebuking with her cultured phrase 
Our homeliness of words and ways. 

A woman tropical, intense 

In thought and act, in soul and sense, 

She blended in a like degree 

The vixen and the devotee. 

Revealing with each freak or feint 

The temper of Petrucio's Kate, 

The raptures of Sienna's saint. 

Brows saintly calm and lips devout 
Knew every change of scowl and pout ; 
And the sweet voice had notes more high 
And shrill for social battle-cry." 

This mysterious character, with 
the author and his brother, fills up 
the number of the dramatis personcs 
in this play of five acts on as many 
days and nights. 

Having seen who were "snow- 
bound," we would like to know where 
such an event occurred as to furnish 
a theme for apparently the last, and, 
of course, the best, poem from the 
pen of one who has filled the post of 
editor of a gazetteer, a weekly review ; 
who has been a member of the Leg- 
islature of Massachusetts ; who pub- 
lished the Legends of New-Eng- 
land, Mog Megone, and Moll Pitch- 
er ; in some of which "he depicted 
with honesty the intolerant spirit and 
the superstitions of the early colo- 
nists." And who, last but not least, 
has been " elected 07ie of the secreta- 
ries of the American Anti-Slavery 
Society, and many of whose best 
poems relate to slavery." Of which 
also we have notice in the poem be- 
fore us, where in 1866, though slave- 
ry has been dead a year, and as cold 
as the snow by which he was bound, 
he would 

" All chains from limb'and spirit strike, 
Uplift the black and white alike, 

and substitute 
For slavery's lash the freeman's will." 


Snow Bound. 


"We would, if we could, give the 
locality of the poem ; from itself we 
learn that Salisbury was " nearer 
home," from which we infer that it 
was not very remote from a town of 
that name. But on recurring to the 
Gazetteer, we find a score of places 
in the United States and several in 
the New-England States of that 
name. But where we find one " in 
Essex county, Mass.," and this is on 
the map near the sea-coast ; and we 
further read, 

-" Nearer home ouv steps he led 

Where Salisbury's level marshes spread, 
Mile wide as flies the laden bee ; 
Where merry mowers, hale and strong, 
Swept scythe on scythe their swaths along 
The loio green prairies of the sea." 

And we further remember that this 
is the natural and appropriate place 
for Salisbury, probably befitting this 
more than any other place of the 
same name in the land, for it is Salt- 
town, Salt-burgh. 

It is said that among the Indians 
it is regarded as a mark of disrespect 
to any chief to inquire his name ; it 
is to be presumed that when a man 
has performed exploits, taken scalps, 
and distinguished himself so much as 
to attain the office of chief, his repu- 
tation is world-wide ; his fame must 
be heard of everywhere, and not pent 
up and confined by narrow. limits ; so 
that to inquire into any thing per- 
taining to his mighty deeds, as if he 
had not attained to " the first three," 
was an impeachment of his claims 
and a disparagement of him. So one 
who has stood before the public in 
New-England as an author since 
1828, when he left the Latin school 
in Boston, and who has publis-hed so 
many poems on various subjects, and 
"has depicted the intolerant spirit of 
the early colonists," and has been 
promoted to be " one of the secreta- 
ries of the American Anti-Slavery 
Society," and " many of whose best 
poems relate to slavery," and "whose 
productions are all distinguished for 
manly vigor of thought and language 
and breathe the true spirit of liberty," 
such an one must be known the 
world over ; his fame is not confined 
by State lines or by national bounda- 

ries ; and hence not to know of course 
all his antecedents, and the where 
and the when of such a poem as the 
Snow Bound, without any inform- 
ation from the author, "argues us 

A few years ago some one in Bos- 
ton discovered that the western part 
of North-Carolina, where is the um- 
bilicus of this part of the continent, 
and radiates its pure mountain 
streams in nearly or quite every di- 
rection, is the very centre of igno- 
rance, the focus of darkness, the 
midnight of mental and moral cul- 
ture, and we are in the penumbra of 
that total eclipse, and we expect a 
"hornet's nest" to be in the back- 

The author could not expect that 
a copy of the Snow Bound, fresh 
from the press of Ticknor and Fields, 
one of the "sixteenth thousand," as 
pure and clean .as the new-fallen 
snow that bound him, should ever 
find its way into these benighted re- 
gions of " Old Rip Van Winkle ;" or 
at any rate before it had been 
" sweated over," like Horace's rolls, 
and then sent to lUerda in Spain, or 
to Utica in Africa. He would need 
to enlighten us first by sending 

" Freedom's young apostles," 
" Who, following in toar''s hloody trail,'''' 
" Scatter before tlieir swift advance 
,. Tlie darknes_s and the ignorance. 
The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth. 
Which nurtured treason's monstrous growth, 
Made murder pastime, and the hell 
Of prison torture possible." 

The growth of plants shows the 
quality of the soil from which they 
spring ; and this is quite racy. Car- 
lyle says : " The kind of speech in a 
man betokens the kind of action you 
will get from him." Men would ben- 
efit the Greeks in Greece, but neglect 
the Greeks at their own doors. They 
will get a telescope to discover ob- 
jects of philanthropy and benevolence 
at a great distance, while those just 
as great at their feet are overlooked, 
or, when they " see them, they pass 
by on the other side." 

We see and hear of these " apos- 
tles of liberty " in the developments 
made concerning the operations of 


Snow Bound. 


the Freedmen's Bureau in this and 
other States, and they are any thing 
but creditable to "freedom's young 
or old apostles." 

But it is time to ask wJien did this 
famous Snow Bound occur which 
is thus immortalized by the pen and 
muse of the great New-England poet 
— to live until a greater heat than 
that of a summer solstice shall melt 
away all the ice from the Arctic and 
Antarctic circles and the Alpine gla- 
ciers ? 

A chronologer informs us that 
"the winter of 1638 was unusually 
severe;" but that of 1641 was of the 
severest kind. Boston Bay was a 
bridge of ice as far as the eye could 
see, and the Chesapeake also was 
frozen. The Indians said such a 
winter had not occurred in forty 
years. The fourteenth day of De- 
cember, 1709, was supposed to be 
the coldest day then known in Amer- 
ica. In February, 1717, fell the 
greatest snow ever known in this 
or perhaps in any country. It cov- 
ered the lower doors of houses, so 
that some people were obliged to step 
out of their chamber-windows on 
snow-shoes. There was also a ter- 
rible tempest. There were very se- 
vere winters in 1738, 1740, and in 
that of 1779 all the rivers at the 
North, and even the Chesapeake Bay, 
were converted into bridges of ice. 
This was the most rigorous winter 
ever known in America. Long Island 
Sound was covered with ice, and the 
Chesapeake was passed with loaded 
carriages at Annapolis. Jan. 7, 1800, 
there was a great snow in Carolina 
and Georgia. From Dec. 20 to Feb. 
1804-5, was a very severe winter. 

But some may smile at the idea of 
a poefs following history — matter of 
fact — since, as the word means maker, 
" he is a curious maker known ;" and 
with his weird wizard's wand, al- 
most like him, . 

" Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect ; 
Who calls for things that are not, and they 
come !" 

but yet he is tound by prohabilities 
and actual facts, and in his beautiful, 
or horrid and shocking creations, 
must use material ready furnished 
to his hand. He can not get out of 
the shell that incloses our mundane 
sphere and crawl around on the back- 
side to see what is there, and how 
they think and feel that dwell there. 
The terrible snow of 1717, when it 
fell to the depth, or rather rose to the 
height, of sixteen feet, to the tops of 
chamber-windows, burying all cattle, 
sheep, etc., that were unsheltered ; 
covering all fences and small streams, 
and, excepting in forests, presenting 
a universal ocean of snow of glitter- 
ing whiteness ; and when a crust was 
formed upon the surface, men could 
pass anywhere on the top of it. 
This made, as we may well suppose, 
a deep impression upon the minds of 
the people ; and though it occurred a 
century and a half ago, many tradi- 
tions are prevalent about it. And 
this is apparently the model from 
divine art from which, like Moses 
copying the pattern God showed to 
him in the mount when about to 
build the tabernacle, the poet took 
his copy, and formed his idea of the 
Snow Bound, when, 

" Around the glistening wonder bent 
The blue walls cf the firmament ; 
No cloud above, no earth below — 
A universe of sky and snow !" 

And the inmates of the house were 
completely isolated from the external 
world ; for, 

" Beyond the circle of our hearth 
No welcome sound of toil or mirth 
Unbound the spell, and testified 
Of human, life and thought outside. 
We minded that the sharpest ear 
The buried brooklet could not hear, 
The music of whose liquid lip 
Had been to us companionship. 
And in our lonely life had grown 
To have an almost human tone." 

This maker makes a harder freeze 
than Thomson in Ms Winter, where 
he makes 

" A crystal pavement, by the breath of heaven 
Cemented firm ; till, seized from shore to 

The whole imprisoned river growls below." 

The poet can, at will, malce a snow- The snow-storm began on a " brief 
storm even in summer, and send for December day," of the coming of 
his ice, in imagination, like morsels ; which they had a portent in a pecu- 


Snow Bound. 


liarly chill state of the air — " a hard, 
dull, bitterness of cold :" 

" The wind blew east : we lieard the roar 
Of ocean on his wintry shore, 
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there 
Beat with low rhythm our inland air." 

It continued all the succeeding night 
and day, and until the second morn- 
ing shone ; and, as before remarked, 
they were confined by the crystal 
walls of their prison for seven days, 
except that after the second morning 
they tunneled a way out to the barn 
to feed the brutes, in like manner 
shut up there. 

During the progress of the. storm, 
and until it clears away, the poet 
gives us no clue to the employments 
or amusements of the inmates of the 
house. He leaves us to suppose that 
they ate, and drank, and talked, and 
slept, and waked as Christians ought 
to do. But when the third night 
came, and 

" The moon above the eastern wood 
Shone at its full," 

they concluded to amuse themselves 
as well as they could in the circum- 
stances ; and in this respect the poem 
is properly characterized— that is, 
the different persons represented as 
being there are made to do and say 
what we might suppose they would 
in the time and circumstances : 

" We sped the time with stories old, 
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told." 

The father tells of trapping and 
hunting and fishing and sailing ; of 
life in the wild woods and Indian 
camps, in his early days. 

The mother kept her wheel going, 
or "run the new-knit stocking at 
the heel," but still could talk and 
tell what, of course, had made a deep 
impression on her mind, when "the 
Indian hordes came down" and made 
their midnight attacks upon the early 
settlers in their defenseless condition. 
She "told the story of her early 
days," or told some tale from "an- 
cient tome," " of faith fire-winged by 
martyrdom ;" perhaps not equal quite 
to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. 

The uncle knew and could give in- 
formation all about fields and brooks ; 

could read the clouds ; was weather- 
wise ; could tell the signs from beasts 
and birds ; gave accounts of his ex- 
ploits with rod and gun ; recounted 
the habits of wood-chucks and musk- 
rats and beavers and squirrels. 
The maiden aunt was young again: 

" Called up her girlhood memories, 
The huskings and the apple-bees. 
The sleigh-rides and the summer sails." 

The sisters contribute nothing to 
the progress of the poem except to 
attend to domestic duties, though 
very tenderly spoken of, especially 
the latter, the younger, wasting away 
with disease. 

But the almost beardless peda- 
gogue made himself very interesting, 
by playing with the cat, at cross- 
pins on a hat, singing songs, telling 
of college scrapes, of skating by 
moonlight, of sleigh-rides, of blind- 
man's buff, of whirling plates, of 
playing the violin, of wrestling 
matches on the barn-floor, of hold- 
ing the winding yarn for the good 

And at thp hour of nine by " the 
bull's-eye watch," without the cur- 
few-bell, in good old Puritan style, 
they cover the red brands with ashes 
and retire to rest. But we miss 
what would have been in the circum- 
stances very appropriate — family 
worship. How beautiful it would 
have been, like the Cottar's Satur- 
day Night, if, after being not only 
so well preserved in the intense cold, 
(the state of the thermometer is not 
given,) when many were suffering all 
the sad variety of woe, but they 
were in the enjoyment of such social 
converse as tends, next to commu- 
nion with God, to promote our high- 
est happiness, to see the aged patri- 
arch, the head and priest of the fam- 
ily, take down the Bible and read 
Job ch. 37 and 38 or Ps. 147, as ap- 
propriate to show who was the Au- 
thor of all atmospheric phenomena, 
as well as the Author and Finisher 
of our faith ; and then, as a united 
family, acknowledge " our Father in 
heaven," praise him for his good- 
ness, and pray for his pardon for 
daily sins I 


Snow Bound. 


The author possesses power of 
graphic description, so as to present 
pictures to the mind both in words 
and Hnes, Hke looking through a nar- 
row crevice in a wall, where a wide 
landscape opens to view on the out- 
side. When the storm was coming 
on — 

" Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, 
Brought in the wood from out of doors, 
Littered the stalls, and from the mows 
Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows ; 
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; 
And sharply clashing horn on horn, 
Impatient down the stanchion-vows 
The cattle shake their walnut bows. 
Before the fire, the mug of cider simmered slow. 
The apples sputtered in a row." 

Speaking of the vanishing away of 
his family, in which alas! we can 
too readily sympathize with him, he 


" Alas for him who never sees 
The stars shine through his cypress trees, 
Who hopeless lays his dead away, 
Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mournful marbles play !" 

When he describes the level 

"Where merry mowers, hale and strong, 
Swept scythe on scythe, their swaths along." 

We can almost see the mowers One 
after the other in a row, each close 
upon the heels of the preceding, 
swinging his scythe, shaving the 
grass from the greensward, (hke as 
a man would shave his face smooth 
with a razor,) and rolling it up into a 
bandage. And like "the sharply 
clashing horn on horn" of oxen, 
" down the stanchion-rows," we can 
hear the noise of each scythe at 
each stroke of the mower ; they are 
almost equal in descriptive and sug- 
gestive power to some of the famous 
lines of the older poets, both Greek, 
Latin, and English. Every one has 
heard Virgil's galloping steed in the 
line whose movement by the accents 
so exactly describes the sense, and 
conveys the idea independent of any 
meaning in the words : 

" Quadrupe-dilnte pu-trem soni-tu quatit-ungula 

And Pope's beat of the drum imi- 
tated in the same way : 

" Gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss, and thun- 

And the same poet when he carries 
a rock to the top of a hill, and it rolls 

down again ; we feel the difficulty in 
the former, and see the ease^ and ve- 
locity in the latter. 

" Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone ; 
The huge round stone fesulting with a bound. 
Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along 
the plain." 

Any one who has even heard the 
farmer pounding out his grain on the 
barn-floor by reiterated blows, will 
recognize the sound in Thomson's 

" Thump after thump, resounds the constant 

We can see the snail moving 

" Ten short words creep on in one dull line." 

A certain writer says of Dana: 
"His description of natural objects 
may not pass before the mind with 
such sweet harmony, but they often 
present in a single line, a ichole pic- 
ture before the imagination, with a 
vividness and power of compression 
which are astonishing ; for instance : 

" But when the light winds lie at rest. 
And on the glassy, heaving sea, 
The black duck, with her glossy breast, 
Sits swinging silently." 

But none of these, to our view, and 
to the view of any one who has ever 
seen or heard the motion and pecu- 
liar sound made by a number of 
hands swinging their blades, "and the 
mowers whet their scythes," can ex- 
ceed the description of our poet, 
when he says : 

"Where Salisbury's level marshes spread, 

Where merry mowers, hale and strong, 
Swept scythe and scythe their swaths along 
The low green prairies of the sea." 

Nor the German," Ganz lose, leise, 
kling-ling-ling," which Marsh gives 
in his Lectures on the English Lan- 
guage ; nor this : 

" He cracked his whip ; the locks, the bolts, 
Cling-clang asunder flew." 

So when, the next morning, the 
teamsters came along to break out 
the road, and open a connection again 
with the outer world, 

"Down the long hillside treading slow 
We saw the half buried oxen go, 
Shaking the snow from heads uptost, 
TheiJ straining nostrils white with frost. 


The Woolly Head; 01% out in tlie Cold. 


Before our door, the straggling train 

Drew up, an added team to gain, 

The elders threshed their hands a-cold, 

Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes 

From lip to lip ; the younger folks 

Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled : 

Then toiled again the cavalcade 

Fi-om every barn a team afoot, 
At every house a new recruit. 
Where drawn by nature's subtlest law, 
Ilaply the watchful young men saw 
Sweet doorway pictures of the curls 
And curious eyes of merry girls. 
Lifting their hands in mock defense 
Against the snow-ball's compliments, 
And reading in each missive tost, 
The charm with Eden never lost. 
So days went on ; a week had passed 
Since the great world was heard from last." 

They read their little store of books 
and pamphlets ; one novel, the alma- 

nac, and the hymn-book, (no Bible?) 

" At last the floundering carrier bore 
The village paper to the door. 

We felt the stir of hall and street, 
The pulse of life that round us beat ; 
The chill embargo of the snow 
Was melted in the genial glow ; 
Wide swung again our ice-locked door. 
And all the world was ours once more." 

Taken on the whole, notwithstand- 
ing some sentiments that partake of 
the atmosphere of Boston on a cer- 
tain dark subject, the Idyll is a gem of 
poetry and "a thing of beauty:" and 
printed and bound in the best style 
of one of the best houses of the "so-' 
called" Athens of America. 



Said the Senator bold 
To the Senator cold. 
The proud, impudent looks 
Of ye kinsmen of Brooks ' 
That oft frightened me sore 
Shall ne'er frighten me more. 

Pll holt and T)ar you out, 
Ye wrangling reiel rout, 
Till your teeth ye will gnash 
While I "grind you to mash." 
(Goodness gracious, oh ! 
Bully Brooks hurt me so!) 

In revenge and in spite 
O'er the door will I write 
ISfever more entrance here 
For those I hate and fear, 
Till they humbly bow the knee, 
And no longer threaten me. 

Said the Senator cold 
To the Senator bold, 
I never knew before. 
Though it puzzled me sore. 
'Twas the lick on the head, 
When you lay as if dead. 

That made you wildly swear 
You'd eternally wear 
Wool of the kinkiest down 
On senatorial crown, 

186G.] General Cleburne's Report of tJie Battle of CMclamauga. 249 

Lest some future bully, 
Not liking souls woolly, 

Should batter, bruise, and beat, 
Reckless of whining bleat ; 
Lest some knotty cane 
Should give an ugly pain 
In head as well as back. 
And make them both as black 

As the'dark heart within, 
All steeped and dyed in sin. 
In this the cunning lies, 
And proves that you are wise, 
To give the head the cover 
That the soul has all over. 


Headquarters Cleburne's Division, 
Hill's Corps, A. T., 

Missionary Ridge, near Chatta- 
nooga, Tenn., Oct. 18, 1863. 

Colonel : I have the honor to re- 
port the operations of my division in 
the battle of Chickamauga, fought on 
Saturday and Sunday, the 19th and 
20th of September, 1863. 

During the afternoon of Saturday, 
•the 19th ultimo, I moved my division 
in a westerly direction across the 
Chickamauga river, atTedford's Ford, 
.and having received orders to report 
to Lieutenant -General Polk, com- 
manding the right wing of the army, 
I did so, and was directed by him to 
form a second line in rear of the right 
of the line already in position. Ac- 
cordingly, soon after sunset, my divi- 
sion was formed partly en echelon^ 
and about three hundred yards in 
rear of the right of the first line. 
My right rested in front of a steam 
saw-mill, known as Jay's Mill, situ- 
ated on a small stream, running be- 
tween the Chickamauga and the road 
leading from Chattandoga to La Fay- 
ette. My line extended from the 
saw-mill almost due south for nearly 
a mile, fronting to the west. 

Polk's brigade, with Calvert's bat- 
tery, (commanded by Lieutenant 
Thomas J. Key,) composed my right 

wing; Wood's brigade, with Semple's 
battery, my centre ; and Deshler's 
brigade, with Douglass's battery, my 
left wing. 

I now received orders from Lieuten- 
ant-General D. H. Hill to advance, 
passing over the line, which had been 
repulsed, and drive back the enemy's 
left wing. 

In my front were open woods, with 
the exception of a clearing (fenced in) 
in front of my centre, the ground 
sloping upward as we advanced. 
Ordering the brigade to direct them- 
selves by Wood's (the centre) brigade, 
and preserve brigade distance, I moved 
forward, passing over the first line, 
and was in a few moments heavily 
engaged along my right and centre. 
The enemy, posted behind hastily- 
constructed breastworks, opened a 
heavy fire of both small-arms and 
artillery. For half an hour the firing 
was the heaviest I had ever heard. 
It was dark, however, and accurate 
shooting was impossible. Each party 
was aiming at the flashes of the 
other's guns, and few of the shots 
from either side took effect. 

Major Hotchkiss (my Chief of Artil- 
lery) placed Polk's and Wood's artil- 
lery in position in the cleared field in 
front of my centre. Availing them- 
selves of the noise and darkness, 

ISGC] Oaneral Cleburne's Report of the Battle of GMcTcamauga. 251 

Captain Seraple and Lieutenant Key 
ran their batteries forward within 
sixty yards of the enemy's line, and 
opened a rapid fire; Polk pressed 
forward at the same moment on the 
right, when the enemy ceased firing, 
and quickly disappeared from my 

There was some confusion at the 
time, necessarily inseparable, how- 
ever, from a night attack. This, and 
the difficulty of moving my artillery 
through the woods in the dark, ren- 
dered a further advance inexpedient 
for the night. I consequently halted, 
and after readjusting my lines, threw 
out skirmishers a quarter of a mile 
in advance, and bivouacked. 

In this conflict the enemy was 
driven back about a mile and a half 
He left in my hands two or three 
pieces of artillery, several caissons, 
two or three hundred prisoners, and 
the colors of the Seventy-seventh 
Indiana, and those of the Seventy- 
ninth Pennsylvania. 

At about ten o'clock next morning 
I received orders from Lieutenant- 
General D. H. Hill to advance, and 
dress on the line of General Breckin- 
ridge, who had been placed on my 
right. Accordingly, directing each 
brigade to dress upon the right and 
preserve its distance, I moved for- 

Breckinridge was already in mo- 
tion. The effort to overtake and 
dress upon him caused hurry and 
some confusion in my line, which 
was necessai'ily a long one. Before 
the effect of this could be rectified, 
Polk's brigade and the right of 
Wood's encountered the heaviest 
artillery fire I have ever experienced. 
I was now within short canister- 
range of a line of log breast-works, 
and a hurricane of, shot and shell 
swept the woods from the unseen 
enemy in my front. 

This deadly fire was directed and 
came from that part of the enemy's 
breast-works opposite to my right 
and right-centre ; the rest of my line 
stretching off to the left, received an 
oblique fire from the line of breast- 
works which, at a point opposite my 

VOL. I. — KG. IV. 

centre, formed a retiring angle, run- 
ning off towards the Chattanooga- 
La- -Fayette road behind. 

The accompanying map, showing 
the shape of the enemy's line of 
works opposite my line, will explain 
our relative positions. 

Upon reference to it, it will be seen 
that opposite to my right and right- 
centre, the enemy's works ran about 
a half a mile north and south, and 
nearly parallel to the Chattanooga- 
La -Fayette road, which was about 
three hundred yards behind ; that at 
a point opposite my centre his works 
formed, as before stated, a retiring 
angle, running in a westerly and 
somewhat oblique direction to the 
Chattanooga -La -Fayette road ; and 
that at a point nearly opposite my 
right, his works formed another re- 
tiring angle, running back also to 
the road. 

My right and right-centre, consist- 
ing of Polk's brigade and Lowry's 
regiment of Wood's brigade, were 
checked within one hundred and 
seventy -five yards of the advance 
part of this position of the enemy's 
works, and the rest of the line were 
halted in compliance with the order 
previously given to dress upon the 

Passing towards the left at this 
time, I found that the line of advance 
of my division, which was the left of 
the right wing of the army, converged 
with the line of advance of the left 
wing of the army, the flanks of the 
two wings had already come into col- 
lision — part of Wood's brigade had 
passed over Bates' brigade of Stew- 
art's division, which was the right of 
the left wing ; and Deshler's brigade, 
which formed my left, had been 
thrown out entirely, and was in rear 
of the left wing of the army. I or- 
dered Wood to move forward the 
remainder of his brigade, opening at 
the same time in the direction of the 
enemy's fire with Semple's battery. 

That part of Wood's brigade to the 
left of Lowry's regiment, and to the 
left of the southern angle of the 
breast-works, in its advance at this 
time entered an old field bordering 

253 General Glcburneh Report of the Battle of Ghiclcamauga. [Aug. 

the road, (Chattanooga-La-Fayette,) 
and attempted to cross it in the face 
of a heavy fire from works in its front. 
It had almost reached the road, its 
left being at Poe's house, (knoM^n as 
the Burning House,) when it was 
driven back by a heavy oblique fire 
of small arms and artillery, which 
was opened upon both its flanks ; the 
fire from the right coming from the 
south face of the breastworks, which 
was hid from view by the thick growth 
of scrub -oaks bordering the field. 
Five hundred men were killed and 
wounded by this fire in a few min- 
utes. Upon this repulse — Lowry's 
regiment having also in the meantime 
been forced to retire — I ordered the 
brigade still further back to re-form ; 
Semple's battery, which had no po- 
sition, I also ordered back. 

I now moved Deshler's brigade by 
the right flank, with the intention of 
connecting it with Polk's left, so fill- 
ing the gap left in my centre by the 
withdrawal of Wood. This connec- 
tion, however, I could not establish, 
as Polk's left had, in its turn, been 
also driven back. Finding it a use- 
less sacrifice of life for Polk to retain 
his position, I ordered him to fall 
back with the rest of his line ; and 
with his and Wood's brigade, I took 
up a strong defensive position some 
three or four hundred yards in rear 
of the point from which they had 
been repulsed. Deshler's brigade had 
moved forward towards the right of 
the enemy's advanced works, but 
could not go beyond the crest of a 
low ridge, from which Lowry had 
been repulsed. I therefore ordered 
him to cover himself behind the ridge, 
and hold his position as long as pos- 

His brigade was now en echelon 
about four hundred yards in front of 
the left of the rest of the division, 
which here rested for some hours. 

In eflfecting this last disposition of 
his command, General Deshler fell — 
a shell passing fairly through his 
chest. It was the first battle in 
which this gentleman had the honor 
of commanding as a general officer. 
He was a brave and efficient one. 

He brought always to the discharge 
of his duty a warm zeal and a high 
conscientiousness. The army and 
the country will long remember him. 

At about half-past three o'clock 
p. SI. I received orders from Lieuten- 
ant -General Polk to move forward 
on a line with my left, (Deshler,) 
connecting my right with Jackson's 
brigade, and when I had formed my 
line to remain and hold the position. 
I accordingly advanced with my cen- 
tre and right wing, drove in the ene- 
my's skirmishers, and found his line 
behind the works from which he had 
repulsed us in the morning. The 
left wing of the army had been 
driving the enemy ; the right wing 
now attacked. Lieutenant -General 
Polk ordering me to advance my 
heavy batteries, and open on the 
enemy. Captain Semple, my acting 
chief of artillery, (Major Hotchkiss, 
my Chief of Artillery, being disabled 
by a wound received the day before,) 
selected positions in front of the line, 
and placed his own and Douglass' 
batteries within two hundred yards 
of the enemy's breast-works, and 
opened a rapid and most effective 
fire, silencing immediately a battery 
which had been playing upon my 
lines. About the same time Briga- 
dier-General Polk charged, and soon 
carried, the north-western angle of 
the enemy's works, taking in succes- 
sion three lines of breast-works. In 
this brilliant operation he was mate- 
rially aided by Key's battery, and 
towards its close by Douglass' bat- 
tery, which had again been moved 
by my orders to my extreme right, 
where it was run into position by 

A large number of prisoners (reg- 
ulars) was here captured. The ene- 
my abandoned his works, and retired 
precipitately. Brigadier-General Polk 
pursued to the Chattanooga-La-Fay- 
ette road, where he captured another 
piece of artillery. I here received 
directions from Lieutenant-General 
D. H. Hill to halt my command until 
further orders. 

I can not close this report without 
an acknowledgment of distinguished 

1866.] General Gleiurne's Report of the Battle of ChicJcamaiiga. 258 

services rendered by various oflBcers Saturday night, in running their 
and men, which would otherwise pass pieces up, as they did, within sixty 
unnoticed. yards of the enemy. In this they 

I have already incidentally called were ably sustained by Lieutenant 
attention to the gallant conduct of Richard Goldthwaite, of Scrapie's 
Brigadier-General Polk ; but it is due battery. Here Major Hotchkiss re- 
to him and the country, which wishes ceived his wound, 
to appreciate its faithful servants, to Captain Semple also displayed skill 
say, that to the intrepidity and stern and judgment as Acting Chief of Ar- 
determination of purpose of himself tillery, particularly in the selection of 
and men, I was principally indebted a position for his own and Douglass' 
for the success of the charge on Sun- batteries, on Sunday evening, which 
day evening, which drove the enemy gave an oblique firo upon the enemy 
from his breast-works, and gave us in his works, contributing to the suc- 
the battle. cess of the final charge by Polk's 

Colonel Mills also is entitled to be brigade, 
remembered. Leading his regiment Captain 0. S. Palmer, A. A. G. of 
through the battle until the fall of his Wood's brigade, was conspicuous for 
brigadier — the lamented Deshler — he his coolness and attention to duty ou 
was called by seniority to command the field, and has my thanks, 
the brigade, which he did with gal- I am much indebted also to Dr. D. 
lantry and intelligence. A. Linthicum, Chief Surgeon of my 

To my StaflF-Major, Calhoun Ben- division. The completeness of his 
ham, A. A. G., (who received a con- arrangements, his careful supervision 
tusion on the right shoulder from a of subordinates, both on the field, 
grape-shot or fragment of shell.) under fire, and elsewhere, and in the 

Captain Irving A. Buck, A. A. G., hospitals, secured our gallant wo-und- 
(whose horse was shot under him ;) ed prompt attention, and all the corn- 
Major Joseph K. Dixon, Assistant forts and alleviation of pain attainable 
Inspector - General ; Captain B. F. in the exigencies of battle. 
Phillips, Assistant Inspector-General; Surgeon A. R. Erskine, then Act- 
Lieutenant J. W. Jetton, Aid -de- ing (now actual) Medical Inspector of 
Campand Acting Assistant Inspector- my division, rendered most efficient 
General ; Major T. R. Hotchkiss, service. 

Chief of Artillery, (who received a Assistant- Surgeon Alfred B. De 
wound from a Minnie ball in the foot Loach particularly distinguished him- 
on Saturday, which deprived me of self by his unselfish devotion, going 
his valuable services afterwfirds ;) repeatedly far forward under fire, and 
Captain Henry C. Semple, who re- amongst the skirmishers, to attend 
placed Major Hotchkiss as Chief of the wounded. 

Artillery when disabled ; Captain C. James P. Brady and Melvin L. 
F. Vanderford, Chief of Ordnance ; Overstreet, privates in the Buckner 
Lieutenant L. H. Mangum, Aid -de- Guards, (my escort, specially detailed 
Camp ; and Lieutenant S. P. Hanly, to attend me throughout the battle,) 
Aid-de-Camp, (who received a con- went with me wherever my duty 
tusion from a grape-shot,) I am in- called me. Brady was wounded in 
debted for the faithful and indefati- the hand ; Overstreet had his horse 
gable manner in which they performed shot. 

these vital, though perhaps not showy To Captain 0. F. Vanderford, my 
duties, throughout these operations. Chief of Ordnance, iny thanks are 

Major T. R. Hotchkiss, Chief of specially due. His trains were al- 
Artillery ; Captain Semple, with his ways in the best order and in the 
battery ; and Lieutenant Thomas J. most acceptable position, and to his 
Key, commanding Calvert's battery, care in this respect I am indebted for 
rendered invaluable service, and ex- a pi'ompt supply of ammunition in 
hibited the highest gallantry, on every critical emergency which arose. 

254 Lines Dedicated to tJiose wlio have leen Southern Soldiers. [Aug. 

I carried into action on Saturday fifteen hundred and thirty -nine (1539) 

the 19th, five thousand one hundred wounded, six (6) missing — making in 

and fifteen (5115) officers and men ; all one thousand seven hundi'ed and 

four thousand eight hundred and forty-nine (1749.) 

seventy -five (4875) bayonets. On Respectfully, 

Sunday, the 20th, I carried in four P. R. Cleburne, 

thousand four hundred and thirty- Major-General. 

seven (4437) bayonets. To Lieut. -Col. Archer Anderson, 

In the two days my casualties were A. A, Gen. D. H. Hill's Corps, 
two hundred and four (204) killed. 


How different are these seasons from the ones so lately past! 

• When with the summer's burning heat, and winter's " surly blast," 
Came thoughts, unbidden, to our minds, of those we loved so well, 
On whom alike the chilling rain and scorching sunbeam fell ; 
When,' sitting nightly at our work, our thoughts kept ling'ring round 
"The soldier in his blanket, in his blanket on the ground;" 
Or, listening with sad heart-throbs, to the hoarse wind murmuring low, 
We wept about "the soldier in his blanket on the snow;" 
And still remembering in our prayers, their perils night and day, 
We prayed for God's best blessing on the soldiers far away. 
Those days are past so long away, that now their mem'ry seems 
A strange, confused, unreal thing, like scenes we see in dreams. 
And now though sad the thoughts may be from those past days that come, 
We have one thing to thank God for — the soldier safe at home. 
Ay, though we know that breaking hearts are mourning for their dead. 
And weeping many bitter tears o'er days forever fled, 
Yet many too, are giving thanks that some who long did roam. 
Though scarred by many a wound and bruise, at last are safe at home. 
From those they love, youth's merriment may be forever flown. 
Their home it may be ruined — yet still it is their own. 
Now, though the war is done at last, and hushed the cannon's roar, 
We can't forget the soldiers for whose weal we prayed before ; 
In every grief and trial sore, perplexity and loss. 
Oh ! may they flee for shelter to the shadow of the Cross ; 
And when life's warfare's o'er at last, and death's discharge shall come, 
Oh ! may these soldiers be received into a heavenly home ! 

June, 1866. 

1866.] Boad-side Stories. 255 


The reception-room where I await- the diiTerence is as marked as between 
ed the cars was lonely, and I was glad a well-polished gimlet and a rusty 
to hear steps in the hall coming that auger. The tidy old lady was very in- 
way. Traveling arouses all the curi- telligent by nature, but several errors 
osity in my nature ; I lose myself in had struck my sensitive ear, and 
vague wanderings about this or that brought conviction that the weather 
person ; not idle prying, I trust, but and cars might be enlarged upon dis- 
an expanding interest in the joys and agreeably ; thereon I grew Gommuni- 
sorrows of my fellow-creatures. The cative myself, and after a roundabout 
footsteps were those of a woman, dissertation on these already exhaust- 
and I straightway fell to wondering ed subjects, remarked that I was af- 
what manner of creature would ap- fected by an uncomfortable drowsi- 
pear. Fantasias in verse and song to ness, rose with a yawn, drew on my 
the unseen flocked to my busy brain, army overcoat, settled myself for the 
to fly like frightened birds before night, and advised her to do the 
the presence of the odd-looking little same. The two left to themselves 
old woman, who stood in the entrance talked in a low tone; the boy was 
for a few seconds with that hesitating evidently her son, and I was touched 
air of untraveled persons, and quick- by her tenderness in many simple 
ly found for herself and bundles the ways. She made him take off his 
most unobtrusive spot in the room, jacket, turn it round and round be- 
A thin, sallow boy followed with an fore the fire, took sewing materials 
idiotic air and odd maneuvers. I am from an emaciated pocket-book, darn- 
a polite man by nature as well as ed a place here and there holding it 
training, so I stirred the fire, and in- up with an air of satisfaction. It 
vited her nearer it, as I marked an was one of the gray jackets we were 
occasional shiver under a threadbare all wearing then, like the one I had 
shawl. " Thank you, sir ; come, on, only his was worn almost white 
Davy !" The tone was pleasant, the with faded blue trimmings, while 
fire likewise, for her timid manner mine was so much better I could not 
fled before its sparkle, and my com- resist holding up an arm by way of 
panion proved rather agreeable than contrast, breathing a blessing on the 
otherwise to look upon, with her mother who made it, and the sister 
restless eyes, under a white rufiied who had so cheerfully given up her 
cap, surmounted by a well taken care pretty opera-cloak for the facings of 
of, but exceedingly worse for the brother's new uniform ; but the con- 
wear bonnet, and a clean checked, trast was painful unless I had owned 
homespun dress, just meeting the another jacket to give the boy, so I 
tops of a pair of stout shoes. Even pulled my cape over the bright red 
the threadbare shawl had an air of cuff, and wished I had on my old 
doing its best, however little that one. Watching the faces before me, 
might be. Several remarks passed hearing her suppressed tones and his 
relative to the belat-ed trains, dread- silly chuckle, I dozed away and could 
ful state of the roads, etc. Traveling have slept had it not been for steps 
seemed a new thing ; and from the sounding again in the hall. The 
brisk manner in which its disadvan- clerk of the house came in with such 
tages were set forth for my edifica- a flourish, confound him ! that Mor- 
tion, a fear arose that I was going to pheus fled amazed from my couch, 
be bored. Now, if there is one kind I wanted to collar and choke him, 
of bore who possesses superior qual- not for waking me up solely — that 
iflcations to another in this particu- was an aggravating circumstance, but 
lar, it is the ungrammatical bore ; not the exciting cause of my indig- 


Road-side Stories. 


nation. I remembered the shabby 
old lady found her way in alone, 
while a fashionable, handsomely-at- 
tired young lady was ushered in 
with all that parade and needless cer- 
emony so annoying to real gentility. 
I argued, the one is rich, the other 
poor — sometimes I hate wealth, it 
narrows so many hearts and cracks 
so many brains ! Resentment against 
the younger, in behalf of the elder 
lady, filled my breast. I hated the 
former before I looked at her ; in- 
deed I would not vouchsafe a glance 
from under my old slouched hat to 
one who had suddenljr grown rich, 
and fancied herself in position by 
possession of a few dollars. I knew 
she was one of that class by the rus- 
tle of her sweeping dress. Bah ! the 
fool ! I muttered in my chivalric de- 
fense of the silent representative of 
poverty, who, I fancied, was already 
enduring heroically the arrogance of 
a "parvenu." A ripple of a laugh 
fell among my thoughts, a pleasant 
sound of itself, and for another rea- 
son — in the solemn earnestness of 
warfare men and women laughed 
seldom, it was chiefly little children 
who could laugh as in the olden 
time. Before I was quite aware of 
my intentions, I raised the brim of 
my hat to look at that face, while the 
shine of a laugh lay on it. A glance 
was enough to remove all precon- 
ceived ideas of the lovely woman be- 
fore me. I called myself a fool as 
heartily as I had called her one. 
"Parvenu," indeed! How refined 
in style, how delicate in manner ! 
Had the other been wife and heir at 
law to Croesus, she could not have 
found a more attentive listener. My 
aforesaid curiosity manifested itself 
in the most vehement manner — what 
if the train came before I divined 
whether that soul was as fair as the 
body! Were those eyes as honest 
as bright ? Was that hair God's 
glorious crowning, or a " switch," 
held on with curious frettings of 
spikes and pins ? Was it a dimple 
or shadow on that faultless chin ? 
Were those roses on lip and cheek to 
the manor born, or parasites ? At 

this juncture I wondered if she was 
married or single ; strangely enough, 
the conversation grew suddenly in- 
teresting and important. I found 
myself wide awake at the next re- 
mark, which, singularly too, replied 
to my speculations. " Yes, ma'am ; 
my husband," said the red lips 
proudly. It was a sweet word, 
sweetly spoken ; I never thought so 
before, nevertheless it ruflfled my com- 
posure ; this may have risen from 
a commendable fear that she may 
not have been happily married ; how- 
ever, a resolution was offered and 
adopted to hate her husband, modi- 
fied only by a providing clause that 
the man could give satisfactory evi- 
dence of his fitness to stand in that 
relation. This was a cool, sensible 
proceeding, and I gave mj^self due 
credit for disinterestedness in my 
devotion to the sex ; at the same 
time acknowledging my capacity for 
hating or loving, men or women, sud- 
denly and fervently, on the slig'ntest 
provocation. That I was just to the 
lady's husband was evident to any 
observer. Why was she traveling 
alone ? He was doubtless an idle, 
drunken skulker from the army ; or 
why that wistful sadness that flitted 
now and then from those lustrous 
eyes ? Possibly she might think well 
of the scapegrace, or might not ; in 
either event it was furthermore re- 
solved, that if he intruded himself in 
our midst, and offered the slightest 
indignity, stranger as I was it should 
be resented. I might restrain my 
rage until I whirled him out of her 
presence, but it was doubtful, very 
doubtful indeed ! Don Quixote 
could not have been by half so crest- 
fallen in his famous retreat from the 
windmills, as I after this desperate 
onslaught against the missing hus- 
band. I discovered myself a fool 
beyond a shadow of disputation when 
I heard her say : " We have all suf- 
fered, but my husband still lives, 
thank God!" It occurred to me at 
that moment more might be said 
than either lady would desire me to 
hear ; and, with all my interest in 
others, I wish to khow nothing of 


Road-side Stories. 


the penetralia of a human soul, which 
is not voluntarily given to my keep- 

I arose, and replenished the dying 
fire, for which I was repaid by looks 
of gratification from my companions ; 
even the boy giggled in his sleep, 
and carried his hands to and from 
the fire to his mouth, as if the flames 
were food. Naturally, as it came to 
us all in those days, the war was our 
theme. Men and women could not 
sit silently together then, when all 
held hands in the game whose stake 
was life or death ! The devotion of our 
women, Especially, and their heroic 
sacrifices, I enlarged upon. " Still," I 
continued, " there are instances rare, 
[ grant, where avarice has laid vio- 
lent hands on the hearts of women 
as well as men." "There are dread- 
ful riecessities forced on us now," 
returned the young lady. 

"Necessities? Would you call 
selling a draught of water to a thirsty 
man a necessity ? Would you think 
water could be bartered and sold?" 
queried I. 

"No, there's no excuse for that, 
none!" she added warmly. The old 
lady began to speak and checked her- 
self, laying her wrinkled hand on 
Davy's restless fingers. 

"It has teen done, I bought it, and 
I grieve to say, a woman sold it," I 
repeated sorrowfully. 

"What? Where ?" ejaculated both 
voices simultaneously. 

"Ten miles from Corinth, Miss., at 
a cabin-door." The old lady inter- 
rupted me with a deprecatory gesture 
and a flood of tears. "Pardon me, 
dear madam," said I eagerly. 

"Forgive me, forgive me!" she 
pleaded. " It was all along of poor 
Davy, all for poor, hungry Davy!" 

The other lady joined me in en- 
treaties that she would spare herself 
the recital of such unhappy memories, 
but she would speak, and this was 
the way she told her story. 

"I must tell you why I sold the 
water, it does me good here," putting 
her hand to her throat. "I wanted 
to tell when the soldiers took it from 
my hand, but the words choked me 

and would never come. I was afraid 
they'd judge me hard and am glad to 
tell. It is not very long, sir, in 
words, but some days would stretch 
themselves out into years, just like 
I've seen the little saplings throw 
long shadows across my yard when 
the sun was sinking down. My old 
man was dead, I was a widow when 
my Davy here was a bit of a shaver, 
toddling around alone. I lived in a 
nice little home, not fine as yours, 
ma'am, but you know the old saying, 
'A rich man's castle's no dearer 
than the poor man's cot.' He was 
handy with his hammer and plane, 
and we knocked about it inside and 
out, until when fine folks passed that 
way, they'd say, ' What a snug little 
cottage!' And little it was to be 
sure, but then it was mine, and it's 
the best of all good feelings to know 
a thing is a body's own ; then again, 
after my husband died, it was all the 
dearer for the sake of him that built 
it. We three lived there then, Matty, 
Davy and me. Well, after a while 
Matty grew up and married, left me 
and her brother until when the war 
came, she come back to us, saying, 
' I've come back home, mother, it's so 
dark over at my house when John is 
gone.' Poor thing! It never got 
light again, for John never set foot in 
the door any more ! Two widows 
lived and worked together, bearing 
the same hard pain. We didn't have 
time to sit down and cry in idleness, 
for if there was no more soldier 
clothes to make for John, there was 
plenty more, who had no mother, 
sister, nor wife to work for 'em, and 
we hadn't the heart to stand by and 
see 'em go off, without helping them 
on. Most of my work was spinning 
and knitting, on account of failing 
eyes ; but Matty's tears fell day after 
day over as many a pretty web of 
cloth as you ever laid your eyes on ; 
they was none the uglier for that. 
Davy stirred in the large chair, but 
lay back again docile as an infant 
under her touch, and her oft-repeated 
whisper of 'Hush, Davy dear!' I 
saw something was the matter with 
him, the great eyes across the hearth 


Hoad-side Storiest 


exchanged glances with mine and 
rested on him pityingly. Well, we 
worked on, every body was working, 
rich and poor, and we wouldn't be 
outdone by nobody, if we did have 
heavy hearts ; for that manner, every 
body's hung heavy, but it was all for 
duty, and you know there's no choice 
in that. My Matty was brave as any 
body. When John went off, he looked 
back and saw her smiling, and kiss- 
ing her little brown hands at him ; 
but when he was clear out of her 
sight, she fell down as still as the 
dead. Then she come home next 
day, light of tongue and hands and 
feet to hide the aching forlmy sake, 
like she hid it for his. Ah me! It's 
the first lesson and the last, and it 
comes easy to us all to hide the hard- 
est achings from them we love, and 
laugh when they step on the hiding- 
place, to keep 'em from finding it. 

"Old folks take no notice of how 
time slips ofi. When I wasn't thinking 
of Davy as nothing but a stripling he 
comes to me one day and tells me 
the ' Time was come for him to go.' 
'Where,' says T, 'my son?' 'To 
fight for you and Matty.' Mj'' old 
heart fell, for he was nry baby, but I 
just said, 'Davj^, you are too young.' 
'But, mother,' he kept on, 'who 
learnt me we was never too young to 
do right, when we knew the right 
way?' He didn't look then like he 
does now, poor Davy ! And I was 
so proud of my boy, he was a mighty 
child for learning, and found so many 
better ways of saying things than I 
did, that he worked me up to think- 
ing his way ; but it was pitiful to see 
him go, he was so young and tender. 
When he walked out of the door in 
his proud way of stepping, with his 
musket on his shoulder, I got old all 
of a sudden, and it come to my mind 
how Abraham laid his Isaac on the 
altar, and I prayed it might go well 
with me and my baby as it went 
with him and his ; but with all the 
hoping and praying, I went weak and 
tottering the whole winter long. 
Then another aching come for Matty's 
sake. ' Her father died of a cough, 
and folks used to say she looked like 

him ; but I never thought so, until 
she took to coughing the same hollow 
way. I tried to make her careful of 
it, but she loved to work ; since John 
was dead and Davy gone, she loved 
it more and more. She ■ used to 
say, ' Young hands is fitter for work 
than old ones, mother, and it makes 
trouble lay lighter for them that's 
gone, to work for them that's here.' 
Then again she'd say, 'Let me work, 
it feels like I was standing guard in 
his place.' I knew what she meant, 
and she'd work with all her might, 
like she stood at the head of a regi- 
ment, leading our boys to glory ! 
We got along very well, thank God, 
until the cavalry got to dashing 
round. The stock, gardens, fields, 
barns, and houses suffered where 
they went, people got to leaving their 
homes, for homes wasn't homes, any 
more and women wasn't safe to stay 
at 'em. There was a running to and 
fro like the prophet said would come, 
but, eh Lord ! I couldn't make mj 
mind to leave my home until I was 
called to the Father's mansion in the 
skies. The way they did would 
make me mighty mad, but I never 
said much until they killed my cows, 
then I give 'em a piece of my mind. 
'Matty,' I'd say, 'that's what I call 
stealing.' 'Why, mother,' she'd say, 
'it's capturing!' Sometimes when I 
couldn't laugh with her, she'd tell 
me, ' Never fret, mother dear, if Davy 
comes back safe they can't make us 
poor.' And then the tender-hearted 
thing would speak up for the raiders, 
saying, ' They must be hungry men, 
and may be they don't know it's 
widows they are taking from.' ' Hun- 
gry, indeed!' says I, 'do you reckon 
they'll eat that dress of yours, and 
my shawl, and the coffee-mill, and 
the saddle, and — ' She'd put her 
hand over my mouth, and I'd quiet 
down and say, ' If they'd come and 
ask me, I'd give and welcome, accord- 
ing to the Scripture, and for Him that 
tells us to love our enemies.' 'But 
mother,' she'd keep on, 'we'll try to 
think kinder of 'em ; there's men 
that's mad and blind rushing 'em on 
us, and it an't one half that knows 


JSodd-side Stories^ 


what for.' Not that she hadn't as 
much pluck as me, for when she saw 
a wrong done, her cheeks would turn 
like sun-red peaches, and her eyes 
flash sparks like my old man's anvil, 
but she'd grown so serious and for- 
giving in her ways. She'd often say, 
'Ah! mother, it an't for long any 
how. I'll go to father and John, and 
Davy will come back a man to take 
care of you.' I'd try to keep dark, 
but my fears was great, there used to 
be stains under her eyes for two or 
three hours every day, and then 
they'd fade out white as lint, leaving 
my heart aching and aching, worse 
and worse for the day that jvsls sure 
to come. I thought she worked too 
much, and took to doing all I could 
in her place, she'd cry, and say, ' It 
hurts me worse than weaving to see 
you work, mother.' One day I went 
off to look up work, and get her 
physic from the hospital, when I 
come back she was lying on the trun- 
dle-bed, so thed she didn't even 
know the sun was shining through 
the window on her shut-up eyes. 
My Matty was likelj'-, and likelier 
than ever when she was sleeping. I 
laid my bundle down and sat watch- 
ing her while I rested, we was grow- 
ing closer and closer to each other in 
them sad days. I begun to feel gen- 
tle and watchful over her as though 
she was a little one at my breast. I 
knew she was going fast, and I felt 
like every minute away from her was 
wasting time, she'd so soon be gone. 
I crept close and kissed her soft, 
thinking not to wake her ; but she 
started up scared and laughed at her 
weak trembly ways, and her sleeping 
like a grand lady in the daytime, 
until she coughed so hard, I made 
out I was too serious to hear her 
pretty voice, and talked myself to 
keep her quiet, in my anxious way, 
about the times being so hard, and 
every thing getting from bad to worse 
over the country. I was fearing 
we'd have to leave the old place after 
all, or suffer for our bread. I was 
lov/-hearted in my ways, and she was 
hoping in hers, like her father was. 
She put her arm round me and talked 

on, w^hile she smoothed my hair away 
under my cap with her little fingers, 
making me ashamed that an old 
woman like me, should be learning 
faith in God out of her own child's 
mouth, when it ought to have been 
me teaching and she learning. Long 
weeks went by in the same way of 
working and talking light for each 
other's sakes, when a day come that 
looked a little brighter than the rest, 
and we thanked God for the sun and 
the blue sky. Matty had got so she 
could not stand about much, and the 
old chair sat by the window every 
day, holding her in its ragged arms. 
She always had a pretty way of talk- 
ing and she sat there with her eyes 
looking a long way off, as if she learnt 
all her sweet words from the sky. 
This time she said softly, ' Mother, I 
don't blame the boys for fighting for 
Dixie, it is such a beautiful land ! I 
used to think it was prettier than 
heaven when John was here.' The 
sun was shining, and I thought when 
I followed her eyes out of the win- 
dow, that if all the blood that was 
flowing was to flow in vain, the liv- 
ing would be slaves and only the 
dead men free ! A shadow fell across 
the door and I knew it was Davy's. 
Matty sprang past me, and turned 
back. I stopped and looked, then 
we fell into each other's arms like 
two dead women ! It was Davy, but 
not the Davy that went away, he was 
a boy, and this was an old man's face 
that laughed in ours, and threw his 
bony arms about, crying, ll'm so 
hungry! so hungry!' We kissed 
each other, and then rose to kiss him, 
but he bit my face until I screamed 
and fell back shuddering with pain, 
and afraid to look that way again. 
Matty led him to the hearth ; the old 
chair and the clock and my wheel 
seemed to stir his heart, for he wasn't 
so wild, and looked around laughing 
as if he knew it was home, but it w'as 
a foolish' laughing that hurt our 
hearts, and we knew he never was to 
be right-minded any more. I needn't 
name the place where he had been, 
for Davy can hear it in his sleep, and 
then there's no calming my poor daft 


Road-side Stories. 


boy, and when I see him in his worst 
ways, I think I lose myself and say 
too bitter things of them I'm trying 
hard to forgive. He's forever dream- 
ing he's hungry, waking or sleeping, 
and never knows he's got enough. 
It's a hard thing for a mother to look 
on, and know it will never pass 
awayl Matty and I couldn't smile 
any more, we'd look at each other 
with wet faces and still tongues, 
sometimes there wouldn't be a word 
spoke in that house all day long, but, 
'I'm so hungry! so hungry!' We 
didn't look up often, it was so hard 
to see a skeleton sitting on the floor, 
laughing at the specks floating 
through his fingers to the light, or 
eating forever and ever, whether any 
thing lay before him or not ; you think 
it's a sad sight now, but it was a sad- 
der one then for I had nothing but 
bread some days to put in his hands. 
I was afraid he'd eat the flesh off 
mine or Matty's when we'd give it to 
him. I couldn't leave them by them- 
selves to hunt for work, and it was 
only the little I had hid from the 
raiders that was left to live on. God 
knows how long it was, for we lost 
the count of weeks and months, and 
knew nothing but day and night un- 
til Davy's words seemed to eat our 
lives away ! To pray and sleep was 
all the comfort we had, except loving 
each other more and more every day. 
One night I woke smelling fire, and 
Matty was coughing like she'd choke 
to death. my God ! I had a hard 
shaking ague with the hot flames 
leaping round me, and not a minute 
to save any thing but our lives, that 
was awful ; but when I saw the black 
savages yelling outside, I'm an old 
woman and a strong one, but I fell 
against the wall with the horror on 
me! Matty led me and Davy out 
like children, the weak was strong in 
them days, and she knelt down with 
the flames flashing on her face and 
prayed to God to save us, and He 
did, for when they came near her, 
more than mortal strength was in her 
hands, and they shrunk off afraid she 
was so death-like and beautiful ! We 
never asked black nor white for any 

thing; we was too proud, and we 
walked away, glad to leave the hor- 
rible sights and sounds and to get 
Davy where he wouldn't laugh so 
wild in our ears. The weather had 
turned bitter cold and though the sun 
had shone on the snow the day be- 
fore, it lay sharp and white under 
our bare feet. I can shut my eyes 
now and see Matty leading the way 
in her white gown like a spirit. We 
walked awhile and rested awhile all 
night and the next day, and the next 
night we huddled together by a fallen 
tree and slept. Next morning we 
come to the cabin you told of, sir, 
and felt safe when we found it was 
close to our own soldiers. I got 
something to eat and work to pay for 
it from them, many a one helped me 
along by a kind word when he'd 
nothing else to give, but my poor 
girl never got over that night's sleep 
in the snow. Her eyes sunk deeper 
and deeper, the blood stole up from 
her heart and down from her cheeks, 
and one night I heard it gurgling 
through her lips, and rose up to see 
my darling die. I held her close to 
the fire, and tried to warm her cold 
hands in my bosom. She smiled 
and raised 'em up slow and tried to 
smooth my hair down, in her old 
way, but they fell round my neck 
and I leaned my face down to hers, 
it hung so heavy with the aching. I 
couldn't wake Davy, he'd a laughed, 
and I'd never heard her whispering, 
' Mother ! mother ! There's no more 
hunger nor thirst, nor any more sor- 
row there!' It was 'mother! moth- 
er !' to the last, till I felt Death un- 
lock her slender fingers from my 
neck and we fell back in the dark- 
ness. Davy woke me up in the 
morning, laughing and running his 
bony hands over his dead sister's 
face. I couldn't leave her there with 
him, I was afraid he'd bite her white 
cheeks, so I buried her without a 
coffin, and dug the grave myself. If 
her sweet lips could have spoke, I 
knew she'd say, 'Never mind, moth- 
er, it's only Matty's old dress you 
are laying by, she's got a new one 
up in heaven i' Thinking of the 


Tlie Tenth of May. 


things she used to say, I took com- 
fort from her silent face, laid the 
earth on it soft as any kisses, and 
come away to live for Davy. I knew 
there was many a one willing to help, 
but I couldn't go to find 'em, and 
there was no passing in and out of 
Corinth until orders was given to 
leave. "When the soldiers scattered 
from the main body, hunting for wa- 
ter, they found me in my door, weak 
and sick of starvation ; there was a 
few handfulls of parched corn left, 
but I couldn't eat a grain, fearing my 
boy 'd go wild for the want of it, any 
more than I could beg the men for 
their bread. To them that had the 
money I sold water, 'and give it to 
the next that come for part of their 
rations. It was all I could do until 
we eat enough to get strength to 
come away. The well give out in a 
short time and then we staggered off 
and left Matty all alone by the road- 
side. It's there I'm going now, for 
we found friends to help us along, 
and God has dealt kindly with me 
and Davy, he an't so wild-like since 
he's got better to eat than bread. A 
heap of the old settlers has gone back 

I hear, and if I can earn enough to 
build a cabin by the side of Matty's 
grave, I'll stay there until we're 
called to meet father and Matty and 

I sat still in the dim light of morn- 
ing, and saw a fair, smooth hand, and 
a wrinkled hard one clasped together 
in sisterhood of grief and tenderness. 
The boy gazed about vacantly, eating 
an imaginary meal with claw-like fin- 
gers, and muttering in painful child- 
ishness, "I'm so hungry! so hun- 
gry !" These were the only sounds, 
until we three bowed our heads and 
wept together. The trains came at 
last — the old lady was going west- 
ward, and as the cars moved slowly 
past under the shed, I saw another 
handkerchief beside mine wave a 
blessing. Something flew in my 
eyes just then, it may have been a 
cinder, for it passed away as I raised 
my hat in answer to a smile of recog- 
nition from the beautiful face that 
had been my '■'• vis-a-vis'''' across the 
hearth in the wayside hotel. We all 
have our stories, she had hers, but 
you are tired, my friend. 

Good night ! 


Oh ! shed not a tear o'er the hero who died 

When the flag of his country was flying ; 
But scatter with lilies and roses the grave 

Where he slumbers in glory undying. 
He knew not the sorrow the conquered must feel. 

The grief of a fruitless endeavor, 
The heart-breaking pang when the struggle was o'er, 

And that banner was folded forever. 
Keep tears for the nation that conquered and ruined, 

Can lay o'er its heroes no tablets of stone ; 
But writes every one on the true heart of woman. 

Whose soldiers though nameless are never unknown. 

Oh ! then let us make a fragrant oration. 

In honor of Jackson the tenth of each May, 
And with roses that bloomed when the hero lay dying. 

Scatter the graves of his comrades that day. 
Thus shall their memory like spring-time forever 

Be embalmed in the perfume of flowers ; 
And their graves to the hearts of our children unborn 

Be as dear as they now are to ours. 


Adele St. Maicr. 


With these as their tombstones the nameless shall lie, 

In the shadow of Jackson's great glory, 
While The Land That We Love, our deeds shall record 

In the annals of song and of story. 

Mrs. M. B. Clarke. 



There was ia fine organ in the old 
chapel at Castle Inglis, and every 
morning almost at day-break, at least 
just at sun-rise, Adele was awaken- 
ed by the distant pealing of the 
morning hymn, as the waves of 
sound vibrated upon the air. The 
mornmg prayer was always at sun- 
rise, in obedience to the will of an old 
lord of the castle, who had, more than 
five centuries ago, bequeathed a sum 
to be set apart, which his heirs could 
never touch, and the interest of which 
was to be devoted to the support of 
a chaplain, "on condition," so runs 
the quaint old codicil, "that the said 
chaplain do always celebrate the 
praise of the most High God at the 
rising of the sun, both in summer and 
winter ; for I would not that any lazy, 
idle priest should officiate in the 
chapel which I have builded. But 
let him be about his work betimes, 
for he may follow the devil from the 
rising of the sun unto the going down 
thereof, and 7ievcr overtalce him.'''' 

We suppose the good old lord fore- 
saw the degeneracy of the times, and 
also the impoverishment of his own 
family, and thus provided, that, come 
what would, a chaplain should not 
be wanting in his ancestral hall ; and 
that he should rise betimes to his 
dutj^ — and that his closing remark 
meant that, of all men, the clergy 
should be most alive to the great and 
pressing importance of the work they 
had to do. 

Adele determined to get up in time 
for the morning service, for those dis- 
tant, sacred notes which awakened 
her morning after morning seemed 
ever to reproach her with self-indul- 
gence and indifference to the worship 

of God. But she was obliged to dress 
herself, for nothing would have in- 
duced her maid, Martin, to rise at 
day -break. Yet it displeased Martin 
sorely to find her young lady had 
risen and dressed without her assist- 
ance — she felt that she was not doing 
her duty. "So much trouble for 
nothing" she muttered to herself, 
after going to Adele' s room, and find- 
ing she had gone to the chapel, "and 
all along of that heathenish old Ron- 
ald, laird of Inglis, as they call him. 
I am sure if he had been a Christian, 
he never would have made such a 
heathenish will. People could say 
their prayers just as well at a more 
comfortable hour, I should think — but 
Scotch will be Scotch,'' and with this 
spiteful moral Martin proceeded to 
arrange the disordered wardrobe, 
M'hich showed plainly how much 
trouble the young lady had had in 
finding her own things and making 
her own toilette. 

Adele was surprised to find her 
cousin Alfred and Mr. Molyneux both 
in the chapel. She wondered if they 
came every morning; but noticing that 
Alfred's recently awakened eyes were 
directed with a peculiar expression 
toward the organ loft, she looked 
up ; it was Sarah Benjamin, whose 
delicate fingers drew forth the swell- 
ing harmony which rolled through 
the darkened oaken arches of Ron- 
ald's chapel, and uniting with the 
morning matins of the birds without, 
trembled through all the dewy air, and 
seemed to diffuse a sacred fragrance 
around the precincts for the rest 
of the day. A lame minstrel, named 
Nigel M'Clestcr, was usually the or- 
ganist. The servants, not a very nu- 


Adele St. Maur. 


merous band, were all assembled in 
the chapel, and Adele thought of the 
olden time, when the armed retain- 
ers of the feudal lord filled the now 
vacant seats. Andrew loved to dwell 
upon the glory of that ancient time, 
when, with clanging arms, brave men 
knelt here : 

" Men who were sheathed in steel, 
With belted sword and spur on heel." 

Adele had frequently been in the 
chapel, but in this pure, cool morning 
light, it looked like some new local- 
ity. The architecture was very beau- 
tiful : 

" The darkened roof rose high aloof 
On pillars lofty and light and small ; 
The keystone that locked each ribbed aisle, 
Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quartre-feuille ; 
The corbels were carved grotesque and grim ; 
And the pillars with clustered shafts so trim 
With base and with capital flourished around — 
Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had 
The sun on the east oriel shone,' 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 
By foliaged tracery combined ; 
Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand, 
'Twixt poplars sti-aight the osier wand, 
In many a freakish knot had twined ; 
Then framed a spell when the work was done. 
And changed the willow wreaths to stone." 

And Molyneux thought that the gol- 
den-haired, blue-eyed Adele was a 
fit personation of the fairy builder, 
and surrounded as she was with this 
beauty of form and richly -toned color, 
looked like a well-set and priceless 

As the last tones of the organ are 
dying away, a soft, yet firm and quick 
footstep is heard, and Paul Inglis 
kneels with the little band of worship- 
ers. Adele has learned to love him 
so dearly that tears of gratitude min- 
gled with her thanksgiving prayer, 
and when the service was over, she 
flew toward him with eager joy. His 
radiant smile showed what happiness 
it was to him to see her. Molyneux 
grew pale as he watched these two 
beautiful young beings, as they show- 
ed such joy in each other's presence ; 
but his earthly mind knew not how 
entirely the love of God absorbed the 
human passions of the young bish- 
op's heart. Paul's work appeared 
to him so great, so momentous, and so 
delightful^ that every thing dse was 
infinitely subordinate to it. He re- 

joiced in the gift of being, he rejoiced 
in the power which God had given 
him of imparting good to his fellow- 
beings — life was to him a beautiful 
harmony. And his love for Adele 
gave him pleasure, just in proportion 
as he saw her growth in grace — just 
in proportion as he saw her tender 
young heart grow in likeness to that 
of his adored Saviour. Ah Charles 
Molyneux ! you think your happiness 
would be complete were the love of 
this beautiful maiden yours ; but your 
bliss would even theft be far below 
the daily lite-happiness of Paul Ing- 
lis. His mind was of the most com- 
prehensive grasp — study was to him 
an intense pleasure, and every fresh 
branch of knowledge was a new armo- 
ry of weapons to be employed in the 
service of his God. Like Solomon, 
his first desire was to have wisdom 
to instruct the peoples of the earth, 
and draw them into the paths of 
righteousness, and God had not only 
given him this wisdom, but he had 
■ given him fame — a fame which was to 
him like the fabled Aladdin's lamp, for 
he had but to say to the rich, "It is 
necessary to have funds for this or 
that object," and their treasures were 
freely opened to him. He had physi- 
cal beauty — he had perfect health: 
what good thing of all the earth had 
been withholden from him ? And he 
laid his gifts all at Jesus' feet with an 
extatic joy. No half-way service was 
his, like that of the engaging young 
ruler ; but true to his work, and to his 
divine Master, he pursued his allotted 
task on earth. And all who came 
into contact with him seemed instinct- 
ively to recognize the nobility, purity, 
sincerity and dignity of a soul devoted 
unreservedly to God. It was curious 
to note the respect, amounting to rev- 
erence, with which men of the world, 
like Sir John Talbot, involuntarily 
treated his sacred character. 

Lady Inglis one day spoke to Dr. 
Inglis of the possibilty of Paul's mar- 
rying. Dr. Inglis smiled, a sweet, 
peculiar smile. "My son's heart is 
preocupied — he will never marry, un- 
less love overtakes him at some un- 
wary moment, when he is resting on 


Adele St. Maur. 


his oars. His whole care now is for 
the 'things of the Lord,' and God 
grant that it be always so." 

"But do you not think he would 
be happier ?" 

"By no means," said Dr. Inglis. 
" The care of a family, however sweet 
to most men, would draw away the 
undivided attention of my son to his 
great work. I do not mean that mar- 
ried clergy can not serve God well, but 
the unmarried serve him better." 

" But the apostle says the bishop 
should be the husband of one wife." 

" I believe, as a general thing, they 
should be ; but not such single-eyed, 
whole-souled men as Francis Xavier, 
Ignatius Loyola, or Paul Inglis. The 
apostle also says ' seek not a wife.' 
To the majority of men, there is no 

greater earthly blessing than a good 
wife — she is indeed a gift from the 
Lord. But such men as Paul are to 
wait for the gift and not seek it, and 
God will bestow it or not, as his own 
goodness and wisdom dictates. As 
for happiness, God is his portion, and 
he finds his happiness in joyous sub- 
mission to his will." 

"Then you are willing," said Lady 
Inglis sadly, " that your family should 
become extinct ;" for Paul VvTiS the 
only male descendant of the house 
of Inglis. 

" I regard the work of the Church as 
so much more important than our own, 
that although it is a sad thought that 
our tiame will vanish from the earth, 
yet I can do and say nothing to pre- 
vent it." 


Adele had walked some miles to 
visit a sick child. She was attend- 
ed by a servant, but after reaching 
the cottage had dismissed him with 
a message to Miss Inglis to send some 
medicine which was needed immedi- 
ately. She remained a half hour or 
so to do what she could for the little 
sufferer, and then set out to return 
to the castle. The path by which 
she came was rather obscure, and she 
took the wrong turning at one point 
and wandered on for some time be- 
fore she became aware of having lost 
the direction. She now paused in 
much perplexity, for the surround- 
ings were entirely new to her. She 
thought she was familiar with all the 
roads, lanes and paths in the vicini- 
ty of the castle, but she now felt cer- 
tain that she had never seen this spot 
before. On noticing the position of 
the almost setting sun, she found, to 
her dismay, that she had been going 
from the castle instead of toward it. 
Endeavoring to retrace her steps she 
became still more confused, and her 
agitation increasing with the grow- 
ing darkness she lost all idea of the 
points of the compass. The sky was 
cloudy and no stars were visible, or 
that would have enabled her to tell 

something of her course. She was 
of a timid disposition, and her fright 
was extreme. Nervousness and fa- 
tigue together made her pant for 
breath, so that she was obliged to stop 
and rest. In a few moments the per- 
fect stillness was broken by the sound 
of approaching footsteps. More 
alarmed than ever, she crouched amid 
the shrubbery, whence she saw a 
dark figure approaching which stopped 
near her and seemed irresolute. Pres- 
ently a voice rang through the wood.-; 
" Miss St. Maur " — it was Charlie 
Molyneux, searching for her ! Oh ! 
the intense relief! — but she tried to 
control her trembling voice as she an- 
swered. Mr. Molyneux sprang to- 
ward her with a fervent "Thank 
God," and quickly asking "Are j^ou 
safe ? are you tired ? where have you 
been ? I have been terribly alarmed 
about you." Adele's self-control, in 
spite of every effort, gave way, and 
she burst into tears. But they were 
very happy tears. 

No one but the servants knew that 
she had not returned from her walk, 
and fearing to alarm her grandfather 
and Mr. Alfred Mowbray being ab- 
sent, they had lold Mr. Molyneux, 
who had immediately set out in search 


Adele St, Maur, 


of her. His care for Adele had come 
to be so much a thing of course that 
it was a sort of understood thing by 
every body but Sir John Talbot, and 
a little lingering jealousy on the part 
of Alfred Mowbray. 

This little episode seemed to show 
Adele her dependence upon her strong 
friend very clearlji-, but the more she 
felt this dependence for happiness 
and well-being upon another the 
more timid she became. The ap- 
pealing shyness of her glances long 
before this time would have been 
enough to have almost crazed the 
enamored youth, even if he had not 
been half so much in love as he was. 
Their path soon reached the foot of 
the cliff" which towered on the north 
of the castle, and winding along the 
wall of granite they came within 
sight of the gleaming lights from the 
windows. Adele laughed as she said 

"That would have been a delightful 
vision to me half an hour ago — I was 
never so frightened in my life. 

Molyneux has never spoken to her 
of love, but now her little hand was 
imprisoned in a soft warm clasp, and 
a . low trembling yet manly voice 

"Miss St. Maur, I would be the 
happiest man on earth if you would 
give me the right to take care of you 

The light from one of the castle 
windows shone full upon the sweet 
face — was it mischief which sparkled 
in the blue eyes as she raised them, 
followed by two tears only, and lay- 
ing the disengaged hand upon the 
strong one which clasped the other, 
she said simply : 

" I will be very happy, Mr. Moly- 
neux, to have you take care of 


Sir John Talbot enters his moth- 
er's dressing-room. His manner is 
indiff'erent, careless, but his face is 
very pale. " I am going to England, 
and have come to say adieu." He 
seats himself on an ottoman at her 

" My dear son, this is a sudden 
decision ; what " — but the mother's 
intuition divines it all from the hag- 
gard eye and trembling lip, and she 
silently runs her fingers through the 
silky raven curls. ^ 

" No hope for me, mother— Moly- 
neux is accepted," and with heaving 
chest he hastily gives his parting 
embrace and leaves the room. 

Lady Talbot takes a hearty cry 
over her son's bitter disappointment 
and her own, for this had been a 
dream which she had indulged in for 
years. People say the course of true 
love never did run smooth, but in 
this case there was not a ripple to 
disturb its blissful flow. No opposi- 
tion—nothing but congratulations and 
blessings. Sweet morning readings 
in the library — delightful walks — 
happy proximity to each other at din- 

ner, and evenings made up of joyous 
laughter, music, and talk. Not even 
a jealous rival to cast an evil eye over 
the scene, for poor Sir John was soon 
wandering in the south of Italy, and 
Alfred had very happy schemes on 
hand, which occupied him fully. 

Adele and her grandfather, accom- 
panied by Mrs. Cecil, Mrs. Benjamin, 
and Sarah, returned to Lanstead Ab- 
bey. Alfred had preceded them by 
a few days. The fires sparkled in 
all the rooms, exotic flowers breath- 
ed perfume from the vases, the but- 
ler is busy superintending his wine- 
coolers, and the French cook is bend- 
ing all his energies to accomplishing 
the nicest processes of his art ; and 
Adele floated into the happy English 
home, sweeter, purer than any iairy 
palace; and, surrounded as she was 
by friends, and greeted with subdued 
welcome by devoted servants, who 
would say this world was a dreary 
place ! 

But Sarah Benjamin looks as if 
some daj^s might be dark and dreary. 
The only drawback to Adele's happi- 
ness is the cloud upon Sarah's brow. 


Aclele St. Ifaur, 


Her mother also looks at her with 
solicitude, but neither asks questions, 
for they see that the sore spirit 
shrinks from the touch. 

Alfred Mowbray has asked her to 
become his wife, and she has refus- 
ed. They leave to-morrow for their 
distant home, and Sarah goes out for 
a solitary walk in the terraced gar- 
den. Alfred Mowbray is soon at her 
side — some little hope yet remains, 
and he is determined to make a last 
appeal. She listens with an expres- 
sion of patient suifering. 

"You would not be happy with 
me, Mr. Mowbray. I am a Jewess." 

Alfred started with horror ; it is as 
if some old time beauty had announc- 
ed herself a witch. 

"You do not understand me," said 
Sarah, shocked in her turn. " I am 
a Christian Jewess, but still a Jew- 
ess in lineage and in all my habits. 
You know our habits of life are all 
different from yours ; my mother says 
we could never be happy together, 
and that you would be more unhap- 
py than I would." 

" But I thought you considered 
our differences in religion as altogeth- 
er immaterial," said Alfred with a 
terrible suspicion that her profession 
of Christianity was not sincere. 

" They are altogether immaterial, 
except so far as this life is concern- 
ed; the observance of the Mosaic 
law, which influences us in all our 
modes of living, we consider neces- 
sary to health and purity. Filial obe- 
dience is as strongly insisted upon in 
the New Testament as the Old, and 
my parents would never consent to 
my maiTiage with a Gentile Christian, 
and I can not marry without their 
consent— that is impossible." 

Alfred looked sorely perplexed ; he 
loved the beautiful Jewess passion- 
atel}', but the idea of marrying an 
infidel his soul shrank from. And he 
could not but believe that this cling- 
ing to the Jewish law was want of 
faith in Christianity. 

He sought an explanation from 
Mrs. Benjamin. The tears filled her 
eyes. " We consider your happiness 
as well as Sarah's, when we refuse 

our consent to this marriage. You 
know we Jews are regulated in all 
our domestic habits, food, clothing, 
every thing by the directions of Mo- 
ses. We see that we are thereby ex- 
empt from many temporary evils 
which the rest of the world suffer 
from. Not only that, but long habit 
— you will say prejudice — has wed- 
ded us to these customs, and as we 
find nothing in the New Testament 
condemnatory of them, and as we do 
not expect to be saved by them, we 
can see no harm in clinging to the 
customs of our forefathers, and we 
are not willing that our children 
should neglect one jot or tittle of our 
ancient faith." 

"But," said Alfred, " are you not 
adding a useless burden to the relig- 
ious duties of jour children ?" 

" We think not. We are obliged 
to be influenced by some rules in all 
these things. For instance, a mother 
must decide what her children's food 
must be. One mother decides by the 
rules laid down by her physician, an- 
other by the dictates of fashion. I 
decide by the laws of Moses, because 
I think them as unerring as the laws 
of Nature." 

"Yet," said Alfred, still afraid that 
his passion might betray him into 
some sacrifice of Christian principle, 
"you can not be Christians unless 
you believe the whole of the New- 
Testament, and St. Paul says, 'Ev- 
ery creature of God is good, and 
nothing to be refused if it be receiv- 
ed with thanksgiving.' " 

" Of course," replied Mrs. Benja- 
min, " every creature of God is good 
for the purpose for which it was cre- 
ated" — here she smiled as Alfred 
brushed a caterpillar from his coat 
sleeve with an involuntary expres- 
sion of disgust — "that caterpillar is 
a creature of God, and very good for 
the purpose for which it was created, 
but I would not select it as material 
for a ragovit." 

Alfred was obliged to laugh. "My 
dear madam, j"ou may be right in 
these views, but I think .when you 
attach so much importance to them 
as to refuse j'-our consent to a mar- 


An Instructive Fact. 


riage, which you do me the honor to 
say would be otherwise unobjection- 
able, I must believe that your Jew- 
ish faith is stronger than your Chris- 

Again Mrs. Benjamin's eyes filled 
with tears, as she said, " We trust in 
the atonement of Christ alone to se- 
cure our salvation. But he observed 
the minutia3 of the law, and we fol- 
low in his footsteps. Our rabbins 
discussed all these points with Mr. 
Inglis, and he made no serious objec- 
tion to their views." 

"Then," said Alfred with an ex- 
pression of indescribable relief, " I 
am willing to conform to all your 
modes of living. Is your objection 

"As far as my daughter is con- 
cerned, yes. But reflect before you 
decide. You will expose yourself to 
the constant ridicule of your friends ; 
and this may seem a small trial at 
first, but you know ' little burdens 
long borne become heavy.' And then 
you may find our habits very annoy- 
ing in some respects. We kindle no 
fires throughout our habitations on 

the Sabbath day. This day has be- 
come doubly sacred to us, for in it 
we now celebrate our Saviour's rest- 
ing in the tomb. The Lord's day we 
observe as you do, as a day of holy 
joy and religious duty. We believe the 
Christian Church has brought much 
suflfering upon herself by departing 
too far from the ancient form in her 
organization. Were her bishops and 
deacons chosen by the church, as St. 
Paul directs, and were they as nu- 
merous and as wholly given to her 
service as the priests and Levites, 
whose successors they were, their 
work would be carried on with an 
efficiency which is not known at 

Alfred smiled, and said, "I leave 
you to discuss these points with the 
rector. Now give me your blessing, 
dear madam, for I claim your consent 
to confirm my happiness." 

When Sarah entered the drawing- 
room two hours later, exquisitely 
dressed for dinner, the doud had dis- 
appeared from her Madonna-like face, 
and Alfred Mowbray looked as though 
his day now had no night. 


About fifteen years ago, an inquiry 
was instituted by the French Govern- 
ment with a view to ascertain the 
state of education — elementary of 
course — among the peasantry of the 
countiy. In the report of the officer 
having this duty in charge to the 
Minister of Public Instruction, the 
following fact was disclosed : That 
among the twenty-one millions com- 
posing the class in question not one 
instance had been found in which the 
mother of a family was able to read ; 
that the children of a suitable age 
had not, also, been taught, or were 
not then learning ; but that many, 
very many, instances had been found 
in which the father being able to 
read, and the mother not able, the 
education of the children had been 
entirely neglected. 

This discovery will surprise no 

TOL. I. NO. IV. 

one ; for, on the one hand, it is diffi- 
cult to conceive how a mother, with 
all her maternal instincts and her 
many opportunities for it, can deny 
herself the gratification of imparting 
to her children an accomplishment 
she finds so valuable to herself; and, 
on the other, it is easy to see how a 
father, with his feebler paternal affec- 
tions, may be so occupied with his 
out-door labors, and so oppressed 
with the burden of providing subsist- 
ence for the household, as not to be 
able to command either the leisure, 
strength, or patience for the drudgery 
of teaching the little ones an art so 
slow and hard to be acquired as, in 
his hands, this must prove. 

The practical lesson from the fact 
is the simple one that, if we would, 
in the speediest manner possible, dif- 
fuse among our people universally 


Lieutenant- General N. B. Fon-est. 


the blessings of education, and re- 
move from this "Land we love" — 
and love all the more tenderly and 
profoundly because of wrongs which 
it has suffered — the disgrace of having 
members of its churches who can not 
read their Bibles, and citizens who 
can not write their names, teach these 
useful arts to our girls, even although 

our boys should be denied all know- 
ledge of them ; teach them to all our 
girls, and they will teach them to all 
their future children, both boys and 
gii"ls, so that in the next generation 
there will not be found one of either 
sex, of our native population, who 
shall be untaught in these fundamen- 
tal branches of education. 


Some writer has attempted to classi- 
fy the character developed by war, 
giving personal illustrations to each 
class. It is very certain that the 
excitements incident to war bring 
into action traits of character which 
the calmness of peace would never 
disclose. Of all games war is the deep- 
est. The passion it feeds, and which 
grows into ruling power, especially 
the glory with which it dazzles, plead 
most powerfully with the soul, tempt- 
ing the ardent spirit with experiment 
and adventure — fascinations to him 
not known in peace. 

There is a man who has boldness 
and dash, an ample brain, and an 
inborn love of glory — an imaginative, 
visionary love of the chivalrous, not 
practical, and in peace profitless. 
With warm affections, he pants for 
knightly renown, and sleeps away, in 
indulgent ease, those shining quali- 
ties which the opportunity given by 
war would make illustrious in all 
time. Such a man was Ashby of 
the Black Horse Cavalry. 

There is another man, whose very 
being is suspended, save it be rocked 
by commotion, and can revel in that 
fearful danger which has but two re- 
sults, death and destruction, or suc- 
cess and immortal name. In peace 
he is unheard of, in war he is a 
giant. Such a man was Mosby. 
With continued war, he would have 
rivaled his great prototype — Marshal 
Junot. There is still another man, 
with a rock-fast devotion, possessing 
power, but a dormant power in quiet 
times. Aroused only to action by 
the din of terrible conflict, he is 

moved to the exhibition of his stern 
qualities by the fires of revolution. 
In peace, a dalliant with beauty, 
fashion, ease, and a courtier of chiv- 
alry. In war, ambitious of thrones, 
sporting with death, defying and de- 
riding it. This man is illustrated by 
Duroc, Ney, or Murat. 

There is still another example. A 
man of iron will, a mental and physical 
energy corresponding ; a constitution- 
al force never slumbering, ever alert, 
ambitious, unwavering, whose goal is 
achievement, whose ensign is Excel- 
sior. It matters not where this man 
is engaged. If in the domain of let- 
ters, he will urge that brain in cease- 
less labor, ever trimming the mid- 
night lamp, seeing beyond the sure 
reward to unbending effort. If in 
the busy mart of trade, the same all- 
conquering faith insures him his divi- 
dend. Wherever peace invites to 
pursuit, that all-pervading purpose 
lends him the means for every materi- 
al and honorable progress. Who 
that has the true idea of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, but that readily perceives 
an inherent greatness, inevitably 
bounding into being, whether lead- 
ing embattled hosts, and guiding the 
intricate machinery of extended em- 
pire, a leader of parliaments, or an 
occupant of the woolsack ? In peace 
or war, making laws or mastering 
the exact sciences, governing mil- 
lions or marshaling armies — it mat- 
ters not, brain and vigor would have 
conceded him surpassing excellence. 
In this class we would place Gen- 
eral Forrest — a man who would be 
successful in any pursuit. Had early 


Lieutenant- General N. B. Forrest , 


years, and his o^yn tide of fortune 
favored, he would have made a dis- 
tinguished name in any of the learned 
professions. As a jurist, he would 
have had that energy, physical and 
mental, without which success is un- 
attainable — with it, as inevitably cer- 
tain as the laws of gravitation. As 
a statesman or political leader, he 
possesses that acuteness of percep- 
tion, that comprehensive grasp of 
mind, that command and knowledge 
of men, that oneness of purpose — all 
concomitants of the deserving aspir- 
ant. He would have managed the 
affairs of an Erie or Illinois Central 
Railroad with thrift and wisdom. 
He was a model planter and trader, 
and would have made the prince of 
landlords — a Paran Stevens — the lea- 
der in all such enterprise. As it was, 
beginning life with the least amount 
of education, no advantages whatever, 
poor as poverty, but with an individ- 
ual purpose to make himself and his 
family of brothers independently rich, 
and build themselves into honorable 
positions, he succeeded most hand- 
somely. In war, these herculean en- 
ergies moved upon a different and 
a higher plane ; but the same pro- 
pelling powers gave him his remark- 
able success and name. AYe know 
of no man in the army who deserves 
more credit for the degree of cavalry 
fame he so completely accomplished. 
With the genius of Bonaparte school- 
ing him, and with those opportuni- 
ties he would have given to his earn- 
estness, who can say that any name 
among the marshals would have 
pointed to greater achievement? 
Without a herald and few of the ad- 
vantages of the military aspirant, he 
worked his own way up the rugged 
steep, carving his way ineradicably 
as he rose, from height to height, un- 
til he reached the very summit, and 
grasped the commission of a lieuten- 
ant-general of cavalry. 

" From the lowest place where virtuous things 

The place is dignified by the doer's deed ; 
Where great titles swell, and virtue none, 
It is a dropsied honor." 

Like the Confederacy, he fought 

against all odds, having no capital 
but that unquailing self-reliance 
which gave to each its wondrous his- 
toric fullness. Can any one fail to 
see it in both ? The South, planting 
herself on cherished principle, ani- 
mated only by a high resolve to sus- 
tain it, feared nothing but her own 
irresolution, perhaps, losing her that 
good she might win by daring to 
attempt. She contended against the 
strongest power on earth. Strong in 
numbers, strong in resources, strong 
in Yankee perseverance, the strong- 
est on earth ; strong in the courts of 
other nations, and in all the appoint- 
ments of established government. 
She contended against blockaded 
ports, shut out from all intercourse 
with mankind ; she contended against 
hired enlistments from all foreign 
powers ; she contended against a 
patriotic pride, enshrined in a dis- 
owned and desecrated flag ; she con- 
tended against the darling prejudices 
and fanaticism of nearly the whole 
civilized world. She had no army, 
no navy, no treasury, no govern- 
ment. She was neither a manufac- 
turing nor a producing people, in 
any essential, economical view. She 
had her army, navy, treasury, her 
whole machinery of government to 
manufacture and put in motion. Her 
whole power, with every hope or 
prospect of success, was herself and 
her home energies. Well and glori- 
ously did she settle in her own mind 
the terms of the struggle. Failing 
by the fate of war, contributed to 
most largely by policies she could 
not expect or control, she has yet 
left a record of skill and achievement 
which will ever stand " a beacon and 
a light unto eternity." 

From nations to men, from the 
resplendent South to the scarcely 
less resplendent Forrest, the same 
striking parallel holds. He too was 
poor, in all but his own strong pur- 
pose ; he too fell struggling like a 
giant, his name radiant and fragrant 
with glory. 

As a cavalry officer, we are not 
prepared to name his defect. What 
are the elements of such an officer ? 


Lieutenant- General N. B. Forrest. 


Is it dash, mingled with ehivalric 
recklessness ; is it sleepless vigilance, 
united with that furious plunge, vivid 
as lightning and unexpected as the 
thunder's crash ; is it intimate know- 
ledge of himself, the extent of his re- 
sources, or the tension of his com- 
mand; is it swiftness in the chase, 
skillfulncss in pursuit, or terror in 
the charge; is it a majestic leader- 
ship, nerving every beholder with 
his own fearless faith ; is it a greater 
solicitude to avoid fatal mistakes 
than to heroize in brilliant deeds ; is 
it the perception of opportunity, and 
its advantages taken ; is it undivided 
attention to his men and his cause, 
intensely forgetful of all else beside ? 
If so, he combined them all. No 
general in the army — not the great ad- 
ministrator himself, Joseph E. John- 
ston — was more known to every de- 
partment of his command. He knew 
hour by hour the state of his army, 
the ability of his .commissary, his 
quartermaster, ordnance, and medi- 
cal bureaux. His scouts •were the 
most active and daring — he forced 
them to be so ; he himself was the 
best scout living. His eye was every- 
where, his labor unceasing, and he 
kindled a like degree of watchful- 
ness in every subordinate. He knew 
no favorites but those made so by 
merit. He loved labor, he -patron- 
ized ability, he worshiped courage. 
Steadiness, onset, fearlessness, he 
never saw but his heart yeai'ned for 
its possessor ; and if without oppor- 
tunity for its continued exercise, he 
found him a time and place for its 
use. Rough he undoubtedly was. 
This roughness we do not admire — 
do not defend. It was inexcusable, 
and much to be deplored. With a 
patriot band of volunteers, it was not 
the quality to be commended in the 
management of a trained force of Se- 
poys, or Mexicans, or an army of 
regulars. Neither had he the culture 
and finish of a Stuart or Hampton, 
but was sui generis^ rough, direct, 
and coarsely rude, the result of early 
life and pursuit. Frequently filled 
with passion, and knowing no con- 
trol, but quick as powder, he saw his 

error, and the amende lionoraMe came 
as buoyantly as the smile of success. 
Truly a diamond of the first water — 
rough, unpolished, just from its na- 
tive quarry. His character as a whole 
was a union of that of Lannes and 
Suchet. With the impetuosity of the 
first he united the cautious calcula- 
tion of the second. He well weighed 
the probabilities and counted the cost 
of every plan. When the time for 
action came, he was as terrible as a 
thunder-bolt. With the qualities of 
these marshals in the respects named, 
he united the fixedness of purpose, 
the tenacity of Massena. His dog- 
gedness of resolution was proverbial. 
It was like the grasp of death. An 
undertaking was never abandoned 
unless forced by orders — a battle 
never over until it was won. The 
doubts, even the panic of others, had 
no effect to tame this obstinacy of 
purpose ; but, falling back upon his 
own iron self reliance, he was everj'' 
inch a man in the darkest hour of 
the storm. It was then, in the mid- 
night darkness of trial, that his ge- 
nius, like stars in the night, shone 
most brightly. He was accustomed 
to look upon nothing as impossible. 
Bad roads and the waste of waters 
could be overcome by " It shall he 
soy Small numbers, with rapid 
marches and concentrated efforts, 
could destroy indolent superiority. 
He was passionately fond of ar- 
tillery, and would stand behind a 
working battery, enjoying its exer- 
cise with all the glee of a delighted 
child. Not unfrequently has he been 
known to direct a section or a bat- 
tery in person, superintending the 
minutest details. Personal daring in 
a leader, the army never doubting 
the fortune and game of its pos- 
sessor, he felt was the strongest 
point he had to gain. With it he 
appeared to wear a magic girdle. 
Not like Atrides — 

" Beyond the missile javelins' sounding flight 
t Safe let us stand ; and from the tumult far 
^ Inspire the ranks, and rale the distant war." 

Hence, in this respect, he is without 
a peer in the annals of the revolu- 


Lieutenant- General N. B. Forrest. 


tion. Leading a charge in person 
was his favorite pastime. The glory 
of single combat he too often court- 
ed — often er than wisdom justified. 
Riding like a young Bedouin, an ex- 
cellent pistol-shot and skillful swords- 
man, with a frame of great muscular 
power, he has, with his own right 
hand, won more success than any 
officer of the war. In hand-to-hand 
fight, with fpistol and sabre, he can 
name twenty-nine trophies to his 
personal prowess. 

This portrait may appear to many 
to be painted in high colors and on 
the order of the sensational. Well- 
known facts and quotations justify it. 
He was a sensation man ; for his 
name always carried an excited inter- 
est into every circle, whether within 
the Federal lines or among the friends 
of his own cause. If any general 
possessed a quasi-ubiquity, he did — 
his whereabouts always the subject 
of inquiry, and none knowing where 
he would appear next. But he was 
not a sensationist from simple desire 
of notoriety, or from any of the weak- 
er principles of vanity ; being actu- 
ated by the public good, the discom- 
fiture of the enemy, and a hereditary 
conviction of the justice of his cause. 
That he was most ambitious, none 
will deny. Genius, valor, and devo- 
tion were not most lavishly bestowed 
on him without the desire to assert 
their value. Some minds can not con- 
ceive a rush of greatness on an un- 
learned man in the brief period in 
which he obtained it ; they forget the 
splendid opportunities of the mo- 
ment when such qualities are devel- 
oped — a French Revolution, or the 
struggles of a Poland or a Hungary, 
with its mushroom men of eternal 
purpose. Yet he was the offspring 
of a far greater era of achievement 
than either of them. The poet is 
born, not made ; so with the general. 
Occasion only calls him out. 

As such, none appreciated his 
merits more highly than the ablest 
lieutenants in the Confederate army 
— men whose names are a synonym 
with soldierly acquirement. With 
Lieut. -General Polk he was a great 

favorite. Lieut.-General S. D. Lee, 
when the victory of Tishomingo 
Creek was announced to him, thought 
it the exaggerated report of a tele- 
graph operator. Lieut.-General Har- 
dee told President Davis, when he 
visited the army of Tennessee in 1864, 
" That he ought to make him a lieu- 
tenant-general." Mr. Davis replied, 
"He had no department for«inm." 
Hardee said: "Then make one; he 
is equal to any thing you can give 
him." It is well understood that 
when the reduced forces of the army 
of Tennessee were combating the ac- 
cumulated and accumulating masses 
of Sherman's mammoth host, and 
the destinies of the Confederacy were 
hanging upon its endurance, that 
General Johnston felt his need as 
chief of cavalry, and most earnestly 
and repeatedly plead with the Gov- 
ernment to have him placed in that 
most important of all fields. Who 
can estimate the value to the Confed- 
eracy of so untiring a leader in Sher- 
man's rear? for there a work was to 
be done without which his front 
could not be checked. Any thing 
worth doing at all is worth doing 
well. This principle governed him 
at all times and everywhere. He 
never had a doubtful purpose. Strat- 
egy was his constant resort. At 
bluff he had no superior. Remem- 
ber Athens, and the capture of Colonel 
Streight. The enemy themselves be- 
ing judges, well said, "When they 
agreed to surrender, they found him 
without force ; when they fought 
him, he was a host." 

As an officer, he was admired and 
confided in ; as a man, he was neither 
loved nor popular, his directness and 
imperturbable obstinacy in decision 
and intercourse, with hot bursts of 
temper, however that decision was 
demanded by the interests of service 
and discipline, leaving in most cases 
the durable impress of tyrannical 
coarseness. Yet he was easy of ac- 
cess, sociable, kind, and generous. 
But with the country at large, who 
viewed him onlj as a public actor, 
his popularity was unbounded. 

Forrest embarked in the Southern 


Lieutenant- General N. B. Forrest. 


cause with a conviction kindred to 
that which saturated the whole be- 
ing of the single-hearted Prince of 
Orange. Never was patriot more 
sincere — never was energy more com- 
pletely locked in the embrace of 
principle. Even his ambitious soul 
had not pierced the vista of coming 
fame ; yet fiery and tempest-tossed 
as it was, he clearly saw but two 
alternatives — combat or submission. 
He raised a regiment — at once he 
became a hero. Generalship soon 
followed, and bis great cavalry 
achievements were the talk of the 
country. ATe can not pause to ex- 
amine his Tennessee laurels — his 
numberless dashes, surprises, cap- 
tures, from his escape with a regi- 
ment intact from Fort Donelson to 
Chickamauga. So far as he was re- 
sponsible, it was an unbroken chain 
of victorjr. The wonderful pursuit 
of Colonel Streight into Rome, Geor- 
gia, and its complete success, made 
him a major-general. Dissatisfaction 
with officers in his own branch of 
the service, and the increasing im- 
portance of Mississippi and West- 
Tennessee as a department, succeed- 
ed in transferring him to this field. 
To it he at once repaired with a com- 
mand of about 2500 men. Sherman 
undertook to penetrate Central Mis- 
sissippi and Alabama with a large and 
well-appointed force, his supposed 
object being to capture Selma and 
Mobile, and ravage that productive 
region, from which the granaries of 
a large section of the Confederacy 
were supplied. Generals Smith and 
Grierson were bowers in this great 
game, and were assigned to the duty 
of diversion (coming out from Mem- 
phis) and the kindred one of spolia- 
tion in the country through which 
they were to pass, before effecting 
the proposed junction. To use his 
own words : " With a large cooperat- 
ing cavalry force, thoroughly armed 
and equipped, they were to descend 
through North-Mississippi, carrying 
fire and sword with them. On they 
came like a blighting sirocco. At 
West-Point you met them. There 
you threw yourselves across the rich 

prairies, a living bulwark to stay the 
desolating tide. Compared with the 
enemy, you were few in numbers, 
but every man became a hero, for all 
seemed impressed with the import- 
ance of the moment. The result is 
well known to the world. You drove 
him howling back in shame, broken 
and demoralized. Sherman's cam- 
paign was brought to an abrupt con- 
clusion, and Mississippi and Alabama 
were saved." 

After a short rest, finding nothing 
needing attention in his own depart- 
ment, he selected the best portion of 
his command, and moved to West- 
Tennessee and Kentucky. By long 
and rapid marches, he soon found 
himself by the blue waters of the 
beautiful Ohio, sweeping the enemy 
before him wherever he met them, 
capturing many prisoners, and valu- 
able and needed stores for every 
bureau of his command, beside earn- 
ing for his little army a character for 
endurance and valor which well might 
excite the envy of the most famous 
legions of history. At Fort Pillow, 
against six pieces of artillery and two 
gunboats, he stormed the works, and 
killed and captured nearly the entire 
garrison. Much opprobrium has been 
cast upon his name by reason of this 
" so-called " massacre. Never was 
charge more truly unjust. Surren- 
der was demanded, when resistance 
M^as madness. With his own guns 
bearing upon the fort, the enemy was 
surrounded, his own men sheltered 
from fire, while he could enfilade 
them. Surrender was refused, he 
was forced to charge. The fort was 
taken in twenty minutes ; the enem}^, 
some fighting inside the works, some 
fleeing to the river, their flag still 
floating in proud defiance from their 
ramparts. Boxes of untouched am- 
munition in great numbers, opened 
and ready for distribution to the men 
as the)'- passed, were placed along the 
bank of the river, and from which 
they were to replenish their cartridge- 
boxes, and from which they did re- 
plenish them. They expected their 
gunboats to protect them at the river. 
In this they were disappointed. But 


Lieutenant- General N. B. lorrest. 


continuing to fire and run when halt- 
ed and surrender demanded, it was 
answered by the piercing hiss of the 
minie, and a further and more rapid 
retreat. The result was inevitable ; 
nothing else could be expected ; it 
could not be avoided. All usage jus- 
tifies its lamentable necessity. That 
there were individual instances of 
cruelty, and even, murder, is no more 
than can be said of every captured 
fort, after storm by a maddened victor. 
But that Forrest is responsible for 
willful blood at Fort Pillow, or pre- 
meditated or allowed massacre, can 
only be sustained by ex-parte testi- 
mony. No fair-minded Federal officer 
will say that the brave army under 
Forrest was universally dishonest — 
men who could or would shield Con- 
federate action, however base or 
bloodthirsty. Such was not, and is 
not, the character of General James 
R. Chalmers, Colonel Robert McCul- 
loch. Captain George B. Harper, and 
hundreds of others equally as vir- 
tuous, and ambitious of unstained 
name as either of them. Yet we 
venture the assertion, that no officer 
or soldier of that entire force can be 
found to hang a charge of murdering 
a prostrate or surrendered foe to For- 
rest's skirts. In the first outbursts 
of a heated partisan indignation, tes- 
timony purely ex parte was taken. 
Forrest prepared a full history of the 
whole siege and capture, and sent it 
to General C. C. Washburne at Mem- 
phis ; but so far as we are advised, 
not only was it not published, but he 
was never given the benefit of a brave 
soldier' s disclaimer. We would ther